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VIonsieur  de  Camors 

(MONSIEUR  'DE  CAMORS) 

t 

lv    OCTAVE    FEUILLET 


Crowned   by    the    French    Academy 


With  a  Preface  by  MAXIME 

DU  CAMP.  Qate*r^U///e/. 

Academy,  and  Illustration*  by 

S  .     |f n*t  afi  Qri&al&t&ng  by  Ru^Jael.  ] 


Current  ! 


Monsieur  de  Camors 

(MONSIEUR  T>E  CAMORS) 
By    OCTAVE    FEUILLET 

Crowned   by    the    French    Academy 

With  a  Preface  by  MAXIME 
DU  CAMP,   of  the  French 

Academy,  and  Illustrations  by 
S  .     R   E   J    C    H    A    N 

NEW   YORK 

Current  Literature  Publishing  Company 

1908 

COPYRIGHT,    1905 

BY 
ROBERT    ARNOT 


PQ 
224Z 


0 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

CTAVE  FEUILLET'S  works  abound 
with  rare  qualities,  forming  a  harmoni- 
ous ensemble;  they  also  exhibit  great 
observation  and  knowledge  of  human- 
ity, and  through  all  of  them  runs  an 
incomparable  and  distinctive  charm. 
He  will  always  be  considered  the 
leader  of  the  idealistic  school  in  the 
nineteenth  century.  It  is  now  fifteen  years  since  his 
death,  and  the  judgment  of  posterity  is  that  he  had  a 
great  imagination,  linked  to  great  analytical  power  and 
insight;  that  his  style  is  neat,  pure,  and  fine,  and  at  the 
same  time  brilliant  and  concise.  He  unites  suppleness 
with  force,  he  combines  grace  with  vigor. 

Octave  Feuillet  was  born  at  Saint-L6  (Manche), 
August  n,  1821,  his  father  occupying  the  post  of  Secre- 
tary-General of  the  Prefecture  de  la  Manche.  Pupil  at 
the  Lyc£e  Louis  le  Grand,  he  received  many  prizes,  and 
was  entered  for  the  law.  But  he  became  early  attracted 
to  literature,  and  like  many  of  the  writers  at  that  period 
attached  himself  to  the  "romantic  school."  He  col- 
laborated with  Alexander  Dumas  phe  and  with  Paul 
Bocage.  It  can  not  now  be  ascertained  what  share 
Feuillet  may  have  had  in  any  of  the  countless  tales  of 
the  elder  Dumas.  Under  his  own  name  he  published 

[v] 


PREFACE 

the  novels  Onesta  and  Alix,  in  1846,  his  first  romances. 
He  then  commenced  writing  for  the  stage.  We  mention 
Echec  et  Mat  (Odeon,  1846);  Palma,  ou  la  Nuit  du 
Vendredi-Saint  (Porte  St.  Martin,  1847);  La  Vieillesse 
de  Richelieu  (Theatre  Francais,  1848);  York  (Palais 
Royal,  1852).  Some  of  them  are  written  in  collabora- 
tion with  Paul  Bocage.  They  are  dramas  of  the  Dumas 
type,  conventional,  not  without  cleverness,  but  making 
no  lasting  mark. 

Realizing  this,  Feuillet  halted,  pondered,  abruptly 
changed  front,  and  began  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of 
Alfred  de  Musset.  La  Grise  (1854),  Le  Village  (1856), 
Dalila  (1857),  Le  Cheveu  Blanc,  and  other  plays  ob- 
tained great  success,  partly  in  the  Gymnase,  partly  in  the 
Comedie  Francaise.  In  these  works  Feuillet  revealed 
himself  as  an  analyst  of  feminine  character,  as  one  who 
had  spied  out  all  their  secrets,  and  could  pour  balm  on 
all  their  wounds.  Le  Roman  d'un  Jeune  Homme  Pauvre 
(Vaudeville,  1858)  is  probably  the  best  known  of  all  his 
later  dramas;  it  was,  of  course,  adapted  for  the  stage 
from  his  romance,  and  is  well  known  to  the  American 
public  through  Lester  Wallack  and  Pierrepont  Edwards. 
Tentation  was  produced  in  the  year  1860,  also  well 
known  in  this  country  under  the  title  Led  Astray;  then 
followed  Montjoye  (1863),  etc.  The  influence  of  Alfred 
de  Musset  is  henceforth  less  perceptible.  Feuillet  now 
became  a  follower  of  Dumas  fils,  especially  so  in  La 
Belle  au  Bois  Dormant  (Vaudeville,  1865);  Le  Cas  de 
Conscience  (Theatre  Francais,  1867);  Julie  (Theatre 
Francais  1869).  These  met  with  success,  and  are  still 
in  the  repertoire  of  the  Comedie  Francaise. 

[vi] 


PREFACE 

As  a  romancer,  Feuillct  occupies  a  high  place.  For 
thirty  years  he  was  the  representative  of  a  noble  and 
tender  genre,  and  was  preeminently  the  favorite  novelist 
of  the  brilliant  society  of  the  Second  Empire.  Women 
literally  devoured  him,  and  his  feminine  public  has  al- 
ways remained  faithful  to  him.  He  is  the  advocate  of 
morality  and  of  the  aristocracy  of  birth  and  feeling, 
though  under  this  disguise  he  involves  his  heroes  and 
heroines  in  highly  romantic  complications,  whose  out- 
come is  often  for  a  time  in  doubt.  Yet  as  the  accredited 
painter  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain  he  contributed 
an  essential  element  to  the  development  of  realistic  fic- 
tion. No  one  has  rendered  so  well  as  he  the  high- 
strung,  neuropathic  women  of  the  upper  class,  who 
neither  understand  themselves  nor  are  wholly  compre- 
hensible to  others.  In  Monsieur  de  C amors,  crowned  by 
the  Academy,  he  has  yielded  to  the  demands  of  a  stricter 
realism.  Especially  after  the  fall  of  the  Empire  had 
removed  a  powerful  motive  for  gilding  the  vices  of 
aristocratic  society,  he  painted  its  hard  and  selfish 
qualities  as  none  of  his  contemporaries  could  have  done. 

Octave  Feuillet  was  elected  to  the  Academic  Fran- 
caise  in  1862  to  succeed  Scribe.  He  died  December 
29,  1890. 


[vii] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

"THE  WAGES  OF  SIN  is  DEATH  " i 

CHAPTER  H 
FRUIT  FROM  THE  HOTBED  OF  PARIS n 

CHAPTER  in 

DEBRIS  FROM  THE  REVOLUTION 31 

CHAPTER  IV 
A  NEW  ACTRESS  IN  A  NOVEL  ROLE 44 

CHAPTER  V 
THE  COTJNT  LOSES  A  LADY  AND  FINDS  A  MISSION     .     .    64 

CHAPTER  VI 
THE  OLD  DOMAIN  OF  REUILLY 80 

CHAPTER  Vn 
ELISE  DE  TicLE 94 

CHAPTER  VIII 
A  DISH  OF  POLITICS 104 

CHAPTER  DC 

LOVE  CONQUERS  PHILOSOPHY 123 

[ix] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  X 

PAGE 

THE  PROLOGUE  TO  THE  TRAGEDY 150 

CHAPTER  XI 
THE  NEW  MAN  OF  THE  NEW  EMPIRE 170 

CHAPTER  XII 
CIRCE 183 

CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  FIRST  ACT  OF  THE  TRAGEDY 206 

CHAPTER  XIV 
AN  ANONYMOUS  LETTER 215 

CHAPTER  XV 
THE  COUNTESS  DE  CAMORS 229 

CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  REPTILE  STRIVES  TO  CLIMB 238 

CHAPTER  XVII 
LIGHTNING  FROM  A  CLEAR  SKY 254 

CHAPTER  XVIII 
ONE  GLEAM  OF  HOPE 264 

CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  REPTILE  TURNS  TO  STING 282 

CHAPTER  XX 
THE  SECOND  ACT  OF  THE  TRAGEDY 294 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXI 

PAGE 

THE  FEATHER  IN  THE  BALANCE 305 

CHAPTER  XXII 
THE  CURTAIN  FALLS 324 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PACING    PACK 

Octave  Feuillet  (portrait) Frontispiece 

Suddenly  the  door  opened  and  the  General  appeared  leading 

Mademoiselle  d'Estrelles  by  the  hand 72 

She  took  both  his  hands  .  .  .  throwing  a  rapid  glance  at  her 

husband  .  .  .  and  offered  her  lips  to  the  young  man  .   204 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

CHAPTER  I 

"THE  WAGES  OF  SIN  is  DEATH" 

'EAR  eleven  o'clock,  one  evening  in  the 
month  of  May,  a  man  about  fifty  years 
of  age,  well  formed,  and  of  noble  car- 
riage, stepped  from  a  coupe  in  the 
courtyard  of  a  small  hotel  in  the  Rue 
Barbet-de-Jouy.  He  ascended,  with 
the  walk  of  a  master,  the  steps  leading 
to  the  entrance,  to  the  hall  where  sev- 
eral servants  awaited  him.  One  of  them  followed  him 
into  an  elegant  study  on  the  first  floor,  which  communi- 
cated with  a  handsome  bedroom,  separated  from  it  by  a 
curtained  arch.  The  valet  arranged  the  fire,  raised  the 
lamps  in  both  rooms,  and  was  about  to  retire,  when  his 
master  spoke: 

"Has  my  son  returned  home?" 
"No,  Monsieur  le  Comte.     Monsieur  is  not  ill?" 
"111!    Why?" 

"Because  Monsieur  le  Comte  is  so  pale." 
"Ah!    It  is  only  a  slight  cold  I  have  taken  this  eve- 
ning on  the  banks  of  the  lake." 
"Will  Monsieur  require  anything?" 

» 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Nothing,"  replied  the  Count  briefly,  and  the  servant 
retired.  Left  alone,  his  master  approached  a  cabinet 
curiously  carved  in  the  Italian  style,  and  took  from  it  a 
long  flat  ebony  box. 

This  contained  two  pistols.  He  loaded  them  with 
great  care,  adjusting  the  caps  by  pressing  them  lightly 
to  the  nipple  with  his  thumb.  That  done,  he  lighted  a 
cigar,  and  for  half  an  hour  the  muffled  beat  of  his  regu- 
lar tread  sounded  on  the  carpet  of  the  gallery.  He  fin- 
ished his  cigar,  paused  a  moment  in  deep  thought,  and 
then  entered  the  adjoining  room,  taking  the  pistols  with 
him. 

This  room,  like  the  other,  was  furnished  in  a  style 
of  severe  elegance,  relieved  by  tasteful  ornament.  It 
showed  some  pictures  by  famous  masters,  statues, 
bronzes,  and  rare  carvings  in  ivory.  The  Count  threw 
a  glance  of  singular  interest  round  the  interior  of  this 
chamber,  which  was  his  own — on  the  familiar  objects— 
on  the  sombre  hangings — on  the  bed,  prepared  for  sleep. 
Then  he  turned  toward  a  table,  placed  in  a  recess  of 
the  window,  laid  the  pistols  upon  it,  and  dropping 
his  head  in  his  hands,  meditated  deeply  many  minutes. 
Suddenly  he  raised  his  head,  and  wrote  rapidly  as  fol- 
lows: 

"To  MY  SON: 

"  Life  wearies  me,  my  son,  and  I  shall  relinquish  it.  The  true  su- 
periority of  man  over  the  inert  or  passive  creatures  that  surround 
him,  lies  in  his  power  to  free  himself,  at  will,  from  those  pernicious 
servitudes  which  are  termed  the  laws  of  nature.  Man,  if  he  will  it, 
need  not  grow  old :  the  lion  must.  Reflect,  my  son,  upon  this  text, 
for  all  human  power  lies  in  it. 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"  Science  asserts  and  demonstrates  it.  Man,  intelligent  and  free, 
is  an  animal  wholly  unpremeditated  upon  this  planet.  Produced 
by  unexpected  combinations  and  haphazard  transformations,  in 
the  midst  of  a  general  subordination  of  matter,  he  figures  as  a  dis- 
sonance and  a  revolt! 

"  Nature  has  engendered  without  having  conceived  him.  The 
result  is  as  if  a  turkey-hen  had  unconsciously  hatched  the  egg  of 
an  eagle.  Terrified  at  the  monster,  she  has  sought  to  control  it,  and 
has  overloaded  it  with  instincts,  commonly  called  duties,  and  police 
regulations  known  as  religion.  Each  one  of  these  shackles  broken, 
each  one  of  these  servitudes  overthrown,  marks  a  step  toward  the 
thorough  emancipation  of  humanity. 

"  I  must  say  to  you,  however,  that  I  die  in  the  faith  of  my  century, 
believing  in  matter  uncreated,  all-powerful,  and  eternal — the  Na- 
ture of  the  ancients.  There  have  been  in  all  ages  philosophers  who 
have  had  conceptions  of  the  truth.  But  ripe  to-day,  it  has  become 
the  common  property  of  all  who  are  strong  enough  to  stand  it — for, 
in  sooth,  this  latest  religion  of  humanity  is  food  fit  only  for  the 
strong.  It  carries  sadness  with  it,  for  it  isolates  man;  but  it  also 
involves  grandeur,  making  man  absolutely  free,  or,  as  it  were,  a 
very  god.  It  leaves  him  no  actual  duties  except  to  himself,  and  it 
opens  a  superb  field  to  one  of  brain  and  courage. 

"The  masses  still  remain,  and  must  ever  remain,  submissive  un- 
der the  yoke  of  old,  dead  religions,  and  under  the  tyranny  of  instincts. 
There  will  still  be  seen  very  much  the  same  condition  of  things  as 
at  present  in  Paris;  a  society  the  brain  of  which  is  atheistic,  and  the 
heart  religious.  And  at  bottom  there  will  be  no  more  belief  in 
Christ  than  in  Jupiter;  nevertheless,  churches  will  continue  to  be 
built  mechanically.  There  are  no  longer  even  Deists;  for  the  old 
chimera  of  a  personal,  moral  God — witness,  sanction,  and  judge, 
— is  virtually  extinct;  and  yet  hardly  a  word  is  said,  or  a  line  writ- 
ten, or  a  gesture  made,  in  public  or  private  life,  which  does  not  ever 
affirm  that  chimera.  This  may  have  its  uses  perchance,  but  it  is 
nevertheless  despicable.  Slip  forth  from  the  common  herd,  my 
son,  think  for  yourself,  and  write  your  own  catechism  upon  a  vir- 
gin page. 

[3] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"  As  for  myself,  my  life  has  been  a  failure,  because  I  was  born 
many  years  too  soon.  As  yet  the  earth  and  the  heavens  were  heaped 
up  and  cumbered  with  ruins,  and  people  did  not  see.  Science, 
moreover,  was  relatively  still  in  its  infancy.  And,  besides,  I  retained 
the  prejudices  and  the  repugnance  to  the  doctrines  of  the  new 
world  that  belonged  to  my  name.  I  was  unable  to  comprehend 
that  there  was  anything  better  to  be  done  than  childishly  to  pout  at 
the  conqueror;  that  is,  I  could  not  recognize  that  his  weapons  were 
good,  and  that  I  should  seize  and  destroy  him  with  them.  In  short, 
for  want  of  a  definite  principle  of  action  I  have  drifted  at  random, 
my  life  without  plan — I  have  been  a  mere  trivial  man  of  pleas- 
ure. 

"Your  life  shall  be  more  complete,  if  you  will  only  follow  my 
advice. 

"  What,  indeed,  may  not  a  man  of  this  age  become  if  he  have  the 
good  sense  and  energy  to  conform  his  life  rigidly  to  his  belief ! 

"I  merely  state  the  question,  you  must  solve  it;  I  can  leave  you 
only  some  cursory  ideas,  which  I  am  satisfied  are  just,  and  upon 
which  you  may  meditate  at  your  leisure.  Only  for  fools  or  the 
weak  does  materialism  become  a  debasing  dogma;  assuredly,  in  its 
code  there  are  none  of  those  precepts  of  ordinary  morals  which  our 
fathers  entitled  virtue;  but  I  do  find  there  a  grand  word  which  may 
well  counterbalance  many  others,  that  is  to  say,  Honor,  self-esteem! 
Unquestionably  a  materialist  may  not  be  a  saint;  but  he  can  be  a 
gentleman,  which  is  something.  You  have  happy  gifts,  my  son, 
and  I  know  of  but  one  duty  that  you  have  in  the  world — that  of  de- 
veloping those  gifts  to  the  utmost,  and  through  them  to  enjoy  life 
unsparingly.  Therefore,  without  scruple,  use  woman  for  your 
pleasure,  man  for  your  advancement ;  but  under  no  circumstances 
do  anything  ignoble. 

"  In  order  that  ennui  shall  not  drive  you,  like  myself,  prematurely 
from  the  world  so  soon  as  the  season  for  pleasure  shall  have  ended, 
you  should  leave  the  emotions  of  ambition  and  of  public  life  for  the 
gratification  of  your  riper  age.  Do  not  enter  into  any  engagements 
with  the  reigning  government,  and  reserve  for  yourself  to  hear  its 
culogium  made  by  those  who  will  have  subverted  it.  That  is  the 

[4] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

French  fashion.  Each  generation  must  have  its  own  prey.  You 
will  soon  feel  the  impulse  of  the  coming  generation.  Prepare  your- 
self, from  afar,  to  take  the  lead  in  it. 

"In  politics,  my  son,  you  are  not  ignorant  that  we  all  take  our 
principles  from  our  temperament.  The  bilious  are  demagogues, 
the  sanguine,  democrats,  the  nervous,  aristocrats.  You  are  both 
sanguine  and  nervous,  an  excellent  constitution,  for  it  gives  you  a 
choice.  You  may,  for  example,  be  an  aristocrat  in  regard  to  your- 
self personally,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  democrat  in  relation  to 
others;  and  in  that  you  will  not  be  exceptional. 

"  Make  yourself  master  of  every  question  likely  to  interest  your 
contemporaries,  but  do  not  become  absorbed  in  any  yourself.  In 
reality,  all  principles  are  indifferent — true  or  false  according  to  the 
hour  and  circumstance.  Ideas  are  mere  instruments  with  which 
you  should  learn  to  play  seasonably,  so  as  to  sway  men.  In  that 
path,  likewise,  you  will  have  associates. 

"Know,  my  son,  that  having  attained  my  age,  weary  of  all  else, 
you  will  have  need  of  strong  sensations.  The  sanguinary  diver- 
sions of  revolution  will  then  be  for  you  the  same  as  a  love-affair  at 
twenty. 

"But  I  am  fatigued,  my  son,  and  shall  recapitulate.  To  be  loved 
by  women,  to  be  feared  by  men,  to  be  as  impassive  and  as  imper- 
turbable as  a  god  before  the  tears  of  the  one  and  the  blood  of  the 
other,  and  to  end  in  a  whirlwind — such  has  been  the  lot  in  which  I 
have  failed,  but  which,  nevertheless,  I  bequeath  to  you.  With  your 
great  faculties  you,  however,  are  capable  of  accomplishing  it,  un- 
less indeed  you  should  fail  through  some  ingrained  weakness  of  the 
heart  that  I  have  noticed  in  you,  and  which,  doubtless,  you  have 
imbibed  with  your  mother's  milk. 

"So  long  as  man  shall  be  born  of  woman,  there  will  be  something 
faulty  and  incomplete  in  his  character.  In  fine,  strive  to  relieve 
yourself  from  all  thraldom,  from  all  natural  instincts,  affections, 
and  sympathies  as  from  so  many  fetters  upon  your  liberty,  your 
strength. 

"Do  not  marry  unless  some  superior  interest  shall  impel  you  to 
do  so.  In  that  event,  have  no  children. 

[5] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Have  no  intimate  friends.  Cassar  having  grown  old,  had  a 
friend.  It  was  Brutus! 

"Contempt  for  men  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom. 

"Change  somewhat  your  style  of  fencing,  it  is  altogether  too 
open,  my  son.  Do  not  get  angry.  Rarely  laugh,  and  never  weep. 
Adieu. 

"CAMORS." 

The  feeble  rays  of  dawn  had  passed  through  the 
slats  of  the  blinds.  The  matin  birds  began  their 
song  in  the  chestnut-tree  near  the  window.  M.  de  Ca- 
mors  raised  his  head  and  listened  in  an  absent  mood 
to  the  sound  which  astonished  him.  Seeing  that  it  was 
daybreak,  he  folded  in  some  haste  the  pages  he  had  just 
finished,  pressed  his  seal  upon  the  envelope,  and  ad- 
dressed it,  "For  the  Comte  Louis  de  Camors."  Then 
he  rose. 

M.  de  Camors  was  a  great  lover  of  art,  and  had  care- 
fully preserved  a  magnificent  ivory  carving  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  which  had  belonged  to  his  wife.  It  was  a  Christ 
—the  pallid  white  relieved  by  a  medallion  of  dark  velvet. 

His  eye,  meeting  this  pale,  sad  image,  was  attracted 
to  it  for  a  moment  with  strange  fascination.  Then  he 
smiled  bitterly,  seized  one  of  the  pistols  with  a  firm  hand 
and  pressed  it  to  his  temple. 

A  shot  resounded  through  the  house;  the  fall  of  a 
heavy  body  shook  the  floor — fragments  of  brains  strewed 
the  carpet.  The  Comte  de  Camors  had  plunged  into 
eternity ! 

His  last  will  was  clenched  in  his  hand. 

To  whom  was  this  document  addressed  ?  Upon  what 
kind  of  soil  will  these  seeds  fall  ? 

[6] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

At  this  time  Louis  de  Camors  was  twenty-seven  years 
old.  His  mother  had  died  young.  It  did  not  appear 
that  she  had  been  particularly  happy  with  her  husband ; 
and  her  son  barely  remembered  her  as  a  young  woman, 
pretty  and  pale,  and  frequently  weeping,  who  used  to 
sing  him  to  sleep  in  a  low,  sweet  voice.  He  had  been 
brought  up  chiefly  by  his  father's  mistress,  who  was 
known  as  the  Vicomtesse  d'Oilly,  a  widow,  and  a  rather 
good  sort  of  woman.  Her  natural  sensibility,  and  the 
laxity  of  morals  then  reigning  at  Paris,  permitted  her  to 
occupy  herself  at  the  same  time  with  the  happiness  of 
the  father  and  the  education  of  the  son.  When  the 
father  deserted  her  after  a  time,  he  left  her  the  child,  to 
comfort  her  somewhat  by  this  mark  of  confidence  and 
affection.  She  took  him  out  three  times  a  week;  she 
dressed  him  and  combed  him;  she  fondled  him  and 
took  him  with  her  to  church,  and  made  him  play  with  a 
handsome  Spaniard,  who  had  been  for  some  time  her 
secretary.  Besides,  she  neglected  no  opportunity  of  in- 
culcating precepts  of  sound  morality.  Thus  the  child, 
being  surprised  at  seeing  her  one  evening  press  a  kiss 
upon  the  forehead  of  her  secretary,  cried  out,  with  the 
blunt  candor  of  his  age : 

"Why,  Madame,  do  you  kiss  a  gentleman  who  is  not 
your  husband?" 

"Because,  my  dear,"  replied  the  Countess,  "our 
good  Lord  commands  us  to  be  charitable  and  affec- 
tionate to  the  poor,  the  infirm,  and  the  exile;  and 
Monsieur  Perez  is  an  exile." 

Louis  de  Camors  merited  better  care,  for  he  was  a 
generous-hearted  child;  and  his  comrades  of  the  col- 

[7] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

lege  of  Louis-le- Grand  always  remembered  the  warm- 
heartedness and  natural  grace  which  made  them  forgive 
his  successes  during  the  week,  and  his  varnished  boots 
and  lilac  gloves  on  Sunday.  Toward  the  close  of  his 
college  course,  he  became  particularly  attached  to  a 
poor  bursar,  by  name  Lescande,  who  excelled  in 
mathematics,  but  who  was  very  ungraceful,  awkwardly 
shy  and  timid,  with  a  painful  sensitiveness  to  the  pe- 
culiarities of  his  person.  He  was  nicknamed  "Wolf- 
head,"  from  the  refractory  nature  of  his  hair;  but  the 
elegant  Camors  stopped  the  scoffers  by  protecting  the 
young  man  with  his  friendship.  Lescande  felt  this 
deeply,  and  adored  his  friend,  to  whom  he  opened 
the  inmost  recesses  of  his  heart,  letting  out  some  im- 
portant secrets. 

He  loved  a  very  young  girl  who  was  his  cousin,  but 
was  as  poor  as  himself.  Still  it  was  a  providential  thing 
for  him  that  she  was  poor,  otherwise  he  never  should 
have  dared  to  aspire  to  her.  It  was  a  sad  occurrence 
that  had  first  thrown  Lescande  with  his  cousin — the  loss 
of  her  father,  who  was  chief  of  one  of  the  Departments 
of  State. 

After  his  death  she  lived  with  her  mother  in  very 
straitened  circumstances;  and  Lescande,  on  occasion 
of  his  last  visit,  found  her  with  soiled  cuffs.  Immediately 
after  he  received  the  following  note : 

"Pardon  me,  dear  cousin!  Pardon  my  not  wearing  white  cuffs. 
But  I  must  tell  you  that  we  can  change  our  cuffs — my  mother  and  I 
— only  three  times  a  week.  As  to  her,  one  would  never  discover  it. 
She  is  neat  as  a  bird.  I  also  try  to  be;  but,  alas!  when  I  practise 

[8] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  piano,  my  cuffs  rub.    After  this  explanation,  my  good  Theo- 
dore, I  hope  you  will  love  me  as  before. 

"JULIETTE." 

Lescande  wept  over  this  note.  Luckily  he  had  his 
prospects  as  an  architect;  and  Juliette  had  promised 
to  wait  for  him  ten  years,  by  which  time  he  would  either 
be  dead,  or  living  deliciously  in  a  humble  house  with  his 
cousin.  He  showed  the  note,  and  unfolded  his  plans  to 
Camors.  "  This  is  the  only  ambition  I  have,  or  which  I 
can  have,"  added  Lescande.  "You  are  different.  You 
are  born  for  great  things." 

"Listen,  my  old  Lescande,"  replied  Camors,  who 
had  just  passed  his  rhetoric  examination  in  triumph. 
"I  do  not  know  but  that  my  destiny  may  be  ordinary; 
but  I  am  sure  my  heart  can  never  be.  There  I  feel  trans- 
ports— passions,  which  give  me  sometimes  great  joy, 
sometimes  inexpressible  suffering.  I  burn  to  discover  a 
world — to  save  a  nation — to  love  a  queen !  I  understand 
nothing  but  great  ambitions  and  noble  alliances,  and 
as  for  sentimental  love,  it  troubles  me  but  little.  My 
activity  pants  for  a  nobler  and  a  wider  field ! 

"I  intend  to  attach  myself  to  one  of  the  great  social 
parties,  political  or  religious,  that  agitate  the  world  at 
this  era.  Which  one  I  know  not  yet,  for  my  opinions  are 
not  very  fixed.  But  as  soon  as  I  leave  college  I  shall  de- 
vote myself  to  seeking  the  truth.  And  truth  is  easily 
found.  I  shall  read  all  the  newspapers. 

"Besides,  Paris  is  an  intellectual  highway,  so  brill- 
iantly lighted  it  is  only  necessary  to  open  one's  eyes  and 
have  good  faith  and  independence,  to  find  the  true  road. 

[9] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

And  I  am  in  excellent  case  for  this,  for  though  born  a 
gentleman,  I  have  no  prejudices.  My  father,  who  is 
himself  very  enlightened  and  very  liberal,  leaves  me  free. 
I  have  an  uncle  who  is  a  Republican ;  an  aunt  who  is  a 
Legitimist — and  what  is  still  more,  a  saint;  and  an- 
other uncle  who  is  a  Conservative.  It  is  not  vanity  that 
leads  me  to  speak  of  these  things;  but  only  a  desire  to 
show  you  that,  having  a  foot  in  all  parties,  I  am  quite 
willing  to  compare  them  dispassionately  and  make  a 
good  choice.  Once  master  of  the  holy  truth,  you  may  be 
sure,  dear  old  Lescande,  I  shall  serve  it  unto  death — 
with  my  tongue,  with  my  pen,  and  with  my  sword!" 

Such  sentiments  as  these,  pronounced  with  sincere 
emotion  and  accompanied  by  a  warm  clasp  of  the  hand, 
drew  tears  from  the  old  Lescande,  otherwise  called 
Wolfhead. 


[10] 


CHAPTER  II 

FRUIT  FROM  THE  HOTBED   OF  PARIS 

'ARLY  one  morning,  about  eight  years 
after  these  high  resolves,  Louis  de 
Camors  rode  out  from  the  porte-co- 
chhe  of  the  small  hotel  he  had  occu- 
pied with  his  father. 

Nothing  could  be  gayer  than  Paris 
was  that  morning,  at  that  charming 
golden  hour  of  the  day  when  the 
world  seems  peopled  only  with  good  and  generous  spir- 
its who  love  one  another.  Paris  does  not  pique  herself 
on  her  generosity;  but  she  still  takes  to  herself  at  this 
charming  hour  an  air  of  innocence,  cheerfulness,  and 
amiable  cordiality. 

The  little  carts  with  bells,  that  pass  one  another  rap- 
idly, make  one  believe  the  country  is  covered  with  roses. 
The  cries  of  old  Paris  cut  with  their  sharp  notes  the 
deep  murmur  of  a  great  city  just  awaking. 

You  see  the  jolly  concierges  sweeping  the  white  foot- 
paths; half-dressed  merchants  taking  down  their  shut- 
ters with  great  noise;  and  groups  of  ostlers,  in  Scotch 
caps,  smoking  and  fraternizing  on  the  hotel  steps. 

You  hear  the  questions  of  the  sociable  neighborhood ; 
the  news  proper  to  awakening;  speculations  on  the 
weather  bandied  across  from  door  to  door,  with  much 
interest. 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Young  milliners,  a  little  late,  walk  briskly  toward 
town  with  clastic  step,  making  now  a  short  pause  before 
a  shop  just  opened;  again  taking  wing  like  a  bee  just 
scenting  a  flower. 

Even  the  dead  in  this  gay  Paris  morning  seem  to  go 
gayly  to  the  cemetery,  with  their  jovial  coachmen  grin- 
ning and  nodding  as  they  pass. 

Superbly  aloof  from  these  agreeable  impressions, 
Louis  de  Camors,  a  little  pale,  with  half -closed  eyes  and 
a  cigar  between  his  teeth,  rode  into  the  Rue  de  Bour- 
gogne  at  a  walk,  broke  into  a  canter  on  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  galloped  thence  to  the  Bois.  After  a  brisk 
run,  he  returned  by  chance  through  the  Porte  Maillot, 
then  not  nearly  so  thickly  inhabited  as  it  is  to-day.  Al- 
ready, however,  a  few  pretty  houses,  with  green  lawns 
in  front,  peeped  out  from  the  bushes  of  lilac  and  clem- 
atis. Before  the  green  railings  of  one  of  these  a  gen- 
tleman played  hoop  with  a  very  young,  blond-haired 
child.  His  age  belonged  in  that  uncertain  area  which 
may  range  from  twenty-five  to  forty.  He  wore  a 
white  cravat,  spotless  as  snow;  and  two  triangles  of 
short,  thick  beard,  cut  like  the  boxwood  at  Versailles, 
ornamented  his  cheeks.  If  Camors  saw  this  personage 
he  did  not  honor  him  with  the  slightest  notice.  He  was, 
notwithstanding,  his  former  comrade  Lescande,  who 
had  been  lost  sight  of  for  several  years  by  his  warmest 
college  friend.  Lescande,  however,  whose  memory 
seemed  better,  felt  his  heart  leap  with  joy  at  the  majestic 
appearance  of  the  young  cavalier  who  approached  him. 
He  made  a  movement  to  rush  forward ;  a  smile  covered 
his  good-natured  face,  but  it  ended  in  a  grimace,  Evi- 

(1*1 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

dently  he  had  been  forgotten.  Camors,  now  not  more 
than  a  couple  of  feet  from  him,  was  passing  on,  and  his 
handsome  countenance  gave  not  the  slightest  sign  of 
emotion.  Suddenly,  without  changing  a  single  line  of 
his  face,  he  drew  rein,  took  the  cigar  from  his  lips,  and 
said,  in  a  tranquil  voice: 

"Hello!    You  have  no  longer  a  wolfhead!" 

"Ha!    Then  you  know  me?"  cried  Lescande. 

"  Know  you  ?    Why  not  ?  " 

"I  thought  —  I  was  afraid  —  on  account  of  my 
beard " 

"Bah!  your  beard  does  not  change  you — except  that 
it  becomes  you.  But  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"Doing  here!  Why,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  at  home 
here.  Dismount,  I  pray  you,  and  come  into  my  house." 

"Well,  why  not?"  replied  Camors,  with  the  same 
voice  and  manner  of  supreme  indifference;  and,  throw- 
ing his  bridle  to  the  servant  who  followed  him,  he  passed 
through  the  garden-gate,  led,  supported,  caressed  by 
the  trembling  hand  of  Lescande. 

The  garden  was  small,  but  beautifully  tended  and 
full  of  rare  plants.  At  the  end,  a  small  villa,  in  the  Ital- 
ian style,  showed  its  graceful  porch. 

"Ah,  that  is  pretty!"  exclaimed  Camors,  at  last. 

"And  you  recognize  my  plan,  Number  Three,  do  you 
not?"  asked  Lescande,  eagerly. 

"Your  plan  Number  Three?  Ah,  yes,  perfectly," 
replied  Camors,  absently.  "And  your  pretty  little 
cousin — is  she  within?" 

"She  is  there,  my  dear  friend,"  answered  Lescande, 
in  a  low  voice — and  he  pointed  to  the  closed  shutters  of 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

a  large  window  of  a  balcony  surmounting  the  veranda. 
"She  is  there;  and  this  is  our  son." 

Camors  let  his  hand  pass  listlessly  over  the  child's 
hair.  "The  deuce ! "  he  said ;  "but  you  have  not  wast- 
ed time.  And  you  are  happy,  my  good  fellow?" 

"So  happy,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  am  sometimes  un- 
easy, for  the  good  God  is  too  kind  to  me.  It  is  true, 
though,  I  had  to  work  very  hard.  For  instance,  I 
passed  two  years  in  Spain — in  the  mountains  of  that 
infernal  country.  There  I  built  a  fairy  palace  for  the 
Marquis  of  Buena -Vista,  a  great  nobleman,  who  had 
seen  my  plan  at  the  Exhibition  and  was  delighted  with 
it.  This  was  the  beginning  of  my  fortune;  but  you 
must  not  imagine  that  my  profession  alone  has  enriched 
me  so  quickly.  I  made  some  successful  speculations- 
some  unheard-of  chances  in  lands;  and,  I  beg  you  to 
believe,  honestly,  too.  Still,  I  am  not  a  millionaire; 
but  you  know  I  had  nothing,  and  my  wife  less;  now, 
my  house  paid  for,  we  have  ten  thousand  francs'  in- 
come left.  It  is  not  a  fortune  for  us,  living  in  this  style ; 
but  I  still  work  and  keep  good  courage,  and  my  Juliette 
is  happy  in  her  paradise!" 

"  She  wears  no  more  soiled  cuffs,  then  ?  "  said  Camors. 

"I  warrant  she  does  not!  Indeed,  she  has  a  slight 
tendency  to  luxury — like  all  women,  you  know.  But  I 
am  delighted  to  see  you  remember  so  well  our  college 
follies.  I  also,  through  all  my  distractions,  never  for- 
got you  a  moment.  I  even  had  a  foolish  idea  of  asking 
you  to  my  wedding,  only  I  did  not  dare.  You  are  so 
brilliant,  so  petted,  with  your  establishment  and  your 
racers,  My  wife  knows  you  very  well ;  in  fact,  we  have 

[Ml 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

talked  of  you  a  hundred  thousand  times.  Since  she 
patronizes  the  turf  and  subscribes  for  The  Sport,  she 
says  to  me,  'Your  friend's  horse  has  won  again';  and 
in  our  family  circle  we  rejoice  over  your  triumphs." 

A  flush  tinged  the  cheek  of  Camors  as  he  answered, 
quietly,  "You  are  really  too  good." 

They  walked  a  moment  in  silence  over  the  gravel 
path  bordered  by  grass,  before  Lescande  spoke  again. 

"And  yourself,  dear  friend,  I  hope  that  you  also  are 
happy." 

"I — happy!"  Camors  seemed  a  little  astonished. 
"My  happiness  is  simple  enough,  but  I  believe  it  is  un- 
clouded. I  rise  in  the  morning,  ride  to  the  Bois,  thence 
to  the  club,  go  to  the  Bois  again,  and  then  back  to  the 
club.  If  there  is  a  first  representation  at  any  theatre,  I 
wish  to  see  it.  Thus,  last  evening  they  gave  a  new  piece 
which  was  really  exquisite.  There  was  a  song  in  it,  be- 
ginning: 

"  He  was  a  woodpecker, 
A  little  woodpecker, 
A  young  woodpecker 

and  the  chorus  imitated  the  cry  of  the  woodpecker! 
Well,  it  was  charming,  and  the  whole  of  Paris  will  sing 
that  song  with  delight  for  a  year.  I  also  shall  do  like  the 
whole  of  Paris,  and  I  shall  be  happy." 

"Good  heavens!  my  friend,"  laughed  Lescande, 
"and  that  suffices  you  for  happiness?" 

"That  and — the  principles  of  'eighty-nine,"  replied 
Camors,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar  from  the  old  one. 

Here  their  dialogue  was  broken  by  the  fresh  voice  of 
a  woman  calling  from  the  blinds  of  the  balcony 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Is  that  you,  Theodore?" 

Camors  raised  his  eyes  and  saw  a  white  hand,  resting 
on  the  slats  of  the  blind,  bathed  in  sunlight. 

"That  is  my  wife.  Conceal  yourself!"  cried  Les- 
cande,  briskly;  and  he  pushed  Camors  behind  a  clump 
of  catalpas,  as  he  turned  to  the  balcony  and  lightly 
answered 

"Yes,  my  dear;  do  you  wish  anything?" 

"Maxime  is  with  you?" 

"Yes,  mother.  I  am  here,"  cried  the  child.  "It  is  a 
beautiful  morning.  Are  you  quite  well?" 

"I  hardly  know.  I  have  slept  too  long,  I  believe." 
She  opened  the  shutters,  and,  shading  her  eyes  from 
the  glare  with  her  hand,  appeared  on  the  balcony. 

She  was  in  the  flower  of  youth,  slight,  supple,  and 
graceful,  and  appeared,  in  her  ample  morning-gown  of 
blue  cashmere,  plumper  and  taller  than  she  really  was. 
Bands  of  the  same  color  interlaced,  in  the  Greek  fash- 
ion, her  chestnut  hair — which  nature,  art,  and  the  night 
had  dishevelled — waved  and  curled  to  admiration  on 
her  small  head. 

She  rested  her  elbows  on  the  railing,  yawned,  show- 
ing her  white  teeth,  and  looking  at  her  husband,  asked: 

"Why  do  you  look  so  stupid?" 

At  the  instant  she  observed  Camors — whom  the 
interest  of  the  moment  had  withdrawn  from  his  con- 
cealment— gave  a  startled  cry,  gathered  up  her  skirts, 
and  retired  within  the  room. 

Since  leaving  college  up  to  this  hour,  Louis  de  Camors 
had  never  formed  any  great  opinion  of  the  Juliet  who 
had  taken  Lescande  as  her  Romeo,  He  experienced  3 

[J6] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

flash  of  agreeable  surprise  on  discovering  that  his  friend 
was  more  happy  in  that  respect  than  he  had  supposed. 

"I  am  about  to  be  scolded,  my  friend,"  said  Les- 
cande,  with  a  hearty  laugh,  "and  you  also  must  stay  for 
your  share.  You  will  stay  and  breakfast  with  us?" 

Camors  hesitated;  then  said,  hastily,  "No,  nc!  Im- 
possible! I  have  an  engagement  which  I  must  keep." 

Notwithstanding  Camors's  unwillingness,  Lescande 
detained  him  until  he  had  extorted  a  promise  to  come 
and  dine  with  them — that  is,  with  him,  his  wife,  and  his 
mother-in-law,  Madame  Mursois — on  the  following 
Tuesday.  This  acceptance  left  a  cloud  on  the  spirit  of 
Camors  until  the  appointed  day.  Besides  abhorring 
family  dinners,  he  objected  to  being  reminded  of  the 
scene  of  the  balcony.  The  indiscreet  kindness  of  Les- 
cande both  touched  and  irritated  him;  for  he  knew  he 
should  play  but  a  silly  part  near  this  pretty  woman.  He 
felt  sure  she  was  a  coquette,  notwithstanding  which,  the 
recollections  of  his  youth  and  the  character  of  her  hus- 
band should  make  her  sacred  to  him.  So  he  was  not  in 
the  most  agreeable  frame  of  mind  when  he  stepped  out 
of  his  dog-cart,  that  Tuesday  evening,  before  the  little 
villa  of  the  Avenue  Maillot. 

At  his  reception  by  Madame  Lescande  and  her 
mother  he  took  heart  a  little.  They  appeared  to  him 
what  they  were,  two  honest-hearted  women,  surrounded 
by  luxury  and  elegance.  The  mother — an  ex-beauty— 
had  been  left  a  widow  when  very  young,  and  to  this 
time  had  avoided  any  stain  on  her  character.  With 
them,  innate  delicacy  held  the  place  of  those  solid  prin- 
ciples so  little  tolerated  by  French  society.  Like  a  fe\v 
2  [17] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

other  women  of  society,  Madame  had  the  quality  of  vir- 
tue just  as  ermine  has  the  quality  of  whiteness.  Vice 
was  not  so  repugnant  to  her  as  an  evil  as  it  was  as  a 
blemish.  Her  daughter  had  received  from  her  those 
instincts  of  chastity  which  are  oftener  than  we  imagine 
hidden  under  the  appearance  of  pride.  But  these  amia- 
ble women  had  one  unfortunate  caprice,  not  uncommon 
at  this  day  among  Parisians  of  their  position.  Although 
rather  clever,  they  bowed  down,  with  the  adoration  of 
bourgeoises,  before  that  aristocracy,  more  or  less  pure, 
that  paraded  up  and  down  the  Champs  Elysees,  in  the 
theatres,  at  the  race-course,  and  on  the  most  frequented 
promenades,  its  frivolous  affairs  and  rival  vanities. 

Virtuous  themselves,  they  read  with  interest  the  dain- 
tiest bits  of  scandal  and  the  most  equivocal  adventures 
that  took  place  among  the  elite.  It  was  their  happiness 
and  their  glory  to  learn  the  smallest  details  of  the  high 
life  of  Paris ;  to  follow  its  feasts,  speak  in  its  slang,  copy 
its  toilets,  and  read  its  favorite  books.  So  that  if  not  the 
rose,  they  could  at  least  be  near  the  rose  and  become 
impregnated  with  her  colors  and  her  perfumes.  Such 
apparent  familiarity  heightened  them  singularly  in 
their  own  estimation  and  in  that  of  their  associates. 

Now,  although  Camors  did  not  yet  occupy  that  bright 
spot  in  the  heaven  of  fashion  which  was  surely  to  be  his 
one  day,  still  he  could  here  pass  for  a  demigod,  and  as 
such  inspire  Madame  Lescande  and  her  mother  with  a 
sentiment  of  most  violent  curiosity.  His  early  intimacy 
with  Lescande  had  always  connected  a  peculiar  interest 
with  his  name :  and  they  knew  the  names  of  his  horses 
—most  likely  knew  the  names  of  his  mistresses. 

[18] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

So  it  required  all  their  natural  tact  to  conceal  from 
their  guest  the  flutter  of  their  nerves  caused  by  his 
sacred  presence;  but  they  did  succeed,  and  so  well  that 
Camors  was  slightly  piqued.  If  not  a  coxcomb,  he  was 
at  least  young:  he  was  accustomed  to  please:  he  knew 
the  Princess  de  Clam-Goritz  had  lately  applied  to  him 
her  learned  definition  of  an  agreeable  man — "He  is 
charming,  for  one  always  feels  in  danger  near  him!" 

Consequently,  it  seemed  a  little  strange  to  him  that 
the  simple  mother  of  the  simple  wife  of  simple  Lescande 
should  be  able  to  bear  his  radiance  with  such  calmness; 
and  this  brought  him  out  of  his  premeditated  reserve. 

He  took  the  trouble  to  be  irresistible — not  to  Madame 
Lescande,  to  whom  he  was  studiously  respectful — but 
to  Madame  Mursois.  The  whole  evening  he  scattered 
around  the  mother  the  social  epigrams  intended  to 
dazzle  the  daughter;  Lescande  meanwhile  sitting  with 
his  mouth  open,  delighted  with  the  success  of  his  old 
schoolfellow. 

Next  afternoon,  Camors,  returning  from  his  ride  in 
the  Bois,  by  chance  passed  the  Avenue  Maillot.  Ma- 
dame Lescande  was  embroidering  on  the  balcony,  by 
chance,  and  returned  his  salute  over  her  tapestry.  He 
remarked,  too,  that  she  saluted  very  gracefully,  by  a 
slight  inclination  of  the  head,  followed  by  a  slight  move- 
ment of  her  symmetrical,  sloping  shoulders. 

When  he  called  upon  her  two  or  three  days  after — 
as  was  only  his  duty — Camors  reflected  on  a  strong  res- 
olution he  had  made  to  keep  very  cool,  and  to  expatiate 
to  Madame  Lescande  only  on  her  husband's  virtues. 
This  pious  resolve  had  an  unfortunate  effect;  for  Ma- 

[19] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

dame,  whose  virtue  had  been  piqued,  had  also  reflected; 
and  while  an  obtrusive  devotion  had  not  failed  to 
frighten  her,  this  course  only  reassured  her.  So  she 
gave  up  without  restraint  to  the  pleasure  of  receiving  in 
her  boudoir  one  of  the  brightest  stars  from  the  heaven 
of  her  dreams. 

It  was  now  May,  and  at  the  races  of  La  Marche— 
to  take  place  the  following  Sunday— Camors  was  to  be 
one  of  the  riders.  Madame  Mursois  and  her  daughter 
prevailed  upon  Lescande  to  take  them,  while  Camors 
completed  their  happiness  by  admitting  them  to  the 
weighing-stand.  Further,  when  they  walked  past  the 
judge's  stand,  Madame  Mursois,  to  whom  he  gave  his 
arm,  had  the  delight  of  being  escorted  in  public  by  a 
cavalier  in  an  orange  jacket  and  top-boots.  Lescande 
and  his  wife  followed  in  the  wake  of  the  radiant  mother- 
in-law,  partaking  of  her  ecstasy. 

These  agreeable  relations  continued  for  several 
weeks,  without  seeming  to  change  their  character.  One 
day  Camors  would  seat  himself  by  the  lady,  before  the 
palace  of  the  Exhibition,  and  initiate  her  into  the  mys- 
teries of  all  the  fashionables  who  passed  before  them. 
Another  time  he  would  drop  into  their  box  at  the  opera, 
deign  to  remain  there  during  an  act  or  two,  and  correct 
their  as  yet  incomplete  views  of  the  morals  of  the  ballet. 
But  in  all  these  interviews  he  held  toward  Madame 
Lescande  the  language  and  manner  of  a  brother:  per- 
haps because  he  secretly  persisted  in  his  delicate  re- 
solve; perhaps  because  he  was  not  ignorant  that  every 
road  leads  to  Rome — and  one  as  surely  as  another. 

Madame  Lescande  reassured  herself  more  and  more; 

[20] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

and  feeling  it  unnecessary  to  be  on  her  guard,  as  at  first, 
thought  she  might  permit  herself  a  little  levity.  No 
woman  is  flattered  at  being  loved  only  as  a  sister. 

Camors,  a  little  disquieted  by  the  course  things  were 
taking,  made  some  slight  effort  to  divert  it.  But,  al- 
though men  in  fencing  wish  to  spare  their  adversaries, 
sometimes  they  find  habit  too  strong  for  them,  and 
lunge  home  in  spite  of  themselves.  Besides,  he  began 
to  be  really  interested  in  Madame  Lescande — in  her 
coquettish  ways,  at  once  artful  and  simple,  provoking 
and  timid,  suggestive  and  reticent — in  short,  charming. 

The  same  evening  that  M.  de  Camors,  the  elder,  re- 
turned to  his  home  bent  on  suicide,  his  son,  passing  up 
the  Avenue  Maillot,  was  stopped  by  Lescande  on  the 
threshold  of  his  villa. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  latter,  "as  you  are  here  you 
can  do  me  a  great  favor.  A  telegram  calls  me  suddenly 
to  Melun — I  must  go  on  the  instant.  The  ladies  will 
be  so  lonely,  pray  stay  and  dine  with  them !  I  can't  tell 
what  the  deuce  ails  my  wife.  She  has  been  weeping  all 
day  over  her  tapestry;  my  mother-in-law  has  a  head- 
ache. Your  presence  will  cheer  them.  So  stay,  I  beg 
you." 

Camors  refused,  hesitated,  made  objections,  and 
consented.  He  sent  back  his  horse,  and  his  friend  pre- 
sented him  to  the  ladies,  whom  the  presence  of  the  un- 
expected guest  seemed  to  cheer  a  little.  Lescande 
stepped  into  his  carriage  and  departed,  after  receiving 
from  his  wife  an  embrace  more  fervent  than  usual. 

The  dinner  was  gay.  In  the  atmosphere  was  that 
subtle  suggestion  of  coming  danger  of  which  both  Ca- 

[21] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

mors  and  Madame  Lescande  felt  the  exhilarating  in- 
fluence. Their  excitement,  as  yet  innocent,  employed 
itself  in  those  lively  sallies — those  brilliant  combats  at 
the  barriers — that  ever  precede  the  more  serious  con- 
flict. About  nine  o'clock  the  headache  of  Madame 
Mursois — perhaps  owing  to  the  cigar  they  had  allowed 
Camors — became  more  violent.  She  declared  she 
could  endure  it  no  longer,  and  must  retire  to  her  cham- 
ber. Camors  wished  to  withdraw,  but  his  carriage  had 
not  yet  arrived  and  Madame  Mursois  insisted  that  he 
should  wait  for  it. 

"Let  my  daughter  amuse  you  with  a  little  music 
until  then,"  she  added. 

Left  alone  with  her  guest,  the  younger  lady  seemed 
embarrassed.  "What  shall  I  play  for  you  ?  "  she  asked, 
in  a  constrained  voice,  taking  her  seat  at  the  piano. 

"Oh!  anything — play  a  waltz,"  answered  Camors, 
absently. 

The  waltz  finished,  an  awkward  silence  ensued.  To 
break  it  she  arose  hesitatingly ;  then  clasping  her  hands 
together  exclaimed,  "It  seems  to  me  there  is  a  storm. 
Do  you  not  think  so?"  She  approached  the  window, 
opened  it,  and  stepped  out  on  the  balcony.  In  a  second 
Camors  was  at  her  side. 

The  night  was  beautifully  clear.  Before  them 
stretched  the  sombre  shadow  of  the  wood,  while  nearer 
trembling  rays  of  moonlight  slept  upon  the  lawn. 

How  still  all  was!  Their  trembling  hands  met  and 
for  a  moment  did  not  separate. 

"Juliette!"  whispered  the  young  man,  in  a  low, 
broken  voice.  She  shuddered,  repelled  the  arm  that 

[22] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

Camors  passed  round  her,  and  hastily  reentered  the 
room. 

"Leave  me,  I  pray  you!"  she  cried,  with  an  impetu- 
ous gesture  of  her  hand,  as  she  sank  upon  the  sofa,  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

Of  course  Camors  did  not  obey.  He  seated  himself 
by  her. 

In  a  little  while  Juliette  awoke  from  her  trance ;  but 
she  awoke  a  lost  woman ! 

How  bitter  was  that  awakening !  She  measured  at  a 
first  glance  the  depth  of  the  awful  abyss  into  which  she 
had  suddenly  plunged.  Her  husband,  her  mother,  her 
infant,  whirled  like  spectres  in  the  mad  chaos  of  her 
brain. 

Sensible  of  the  anguish  of  an  irreparable  wrong, 
she  rose,  passed  her  hand  vacantly  across  her  brow, 
and  muttering,  "Oh,  God!  oh,  God!"  peered  vainly 
into  the  dark  for  light — hope — refuge!  There  was 
none! 

Her  tortured  soul  cast  herself  utterly  on  that  of 
her  lover.  She  turned  her  swimming  eyes  on  him  and 
said: 

"How  you  must  despise  me!" 

Camors,  half  kneeling  on  the  carpet  near  her,  kissed 
her  hand  indifferently  and  half  raised  his  shoulders  in 
sign  of  denial.  " Is  it  not  so ?"  she  repeated.  "Answer 
me,  Louis." 

His  face  wore  a  strange,  cruel  smile — "Do  not  insist 
on  an  answer,  I  pray  you,"  he  said. 

"  Then  I  am  right  ?   You  do  despise  me  ?  " 

Camors  turned  himself  abruptly  full  toward  her, 

[23] 


looked  straight  in  her  face,  and  said,  in  a  cold,  hard 
voice,  "Idol" 

To  this  cruel  speech  the  poor  child  replied  by  a  wild 
cry  that  seemed  to  rend  her,  while  her  eyes  dilated  as 
if  under  the  influence  of  strong  poison.  Camors  strode 
across  the  room,  then  returned  and  stood  by  her  as  he 
said,  in  a  quick,  violent  tone: 

"You  think  I  am  brutal?  Perhaps  I  am,  but  that 
can  matter  little  now.  After  the  irreparable  wrong  I 
have  done  you,  there  is  one  service — and  only  one— 
which  I  can  now  render  you.  I  do  it  now,  and  tell  you 
the  truth.  Understand  me  clearly;  women  who  fall  do 
not  judge  themselves  more  harshly  than  their  accom- 
plices judge  them.  For  myself,  what  would  you  have 
me  think  of  you  ? 

"To  his  misfortune  and  my  shame,  I  have  known 
your  husband  since  his  boyhood.  There  is  not  a  drop 
of  blood  in  his  veins  that  does  not  throb  for  you ;  there 
is  not  a  thought  of  his  day  nor  a  dream  of  his  night  that 
is  not  yours ;  your  every  comfort  comes  from  his  sacri- 
fices— your  every  joy  from  his  exertion !  See  what  he  is 
to  you! 

"You  have  only  seen  my  name  in  the  journals;  you 
have  seen  me  ride  by  your  window ;  I  have  talked  a  few 
times  with  you,  and  you  yield  to  me  in  one  moment  the 
whole  of  his  life  with  your  own — the  whole  of  his  happi- 
ness with  your  own. 

"I  tell  you,  woman,  every  man  like  me,  who  abuses 
your  vanity  and  your  weakness  and  afterward  tells  you 
he  esteems  you — lies!  And  if  after  all  you  still  believe 
he  loves  you,  you  do  yourself  fresh  injury.  No:  we 

[24] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

soon  learn  to  hate  those  irksome  ties  that  become  duties 
where  we  only  sought  pleasures;  and  the  first  effort 
after  they  arc  formed  is  to  shatter  them. 

"As  for  the  rest:  women  like  you  are  not  made  for 
unholy  love  like  ours.  Their  charm  is  their  purity,  and 
losing  that,  they  lose  everything.  But  it  is  a  blessing  to 
them  to  encounter  one  wretch,  like  myself,  who  dares  to 
say — Forget  me ,  forever !  Farewell ! ' ' 

He  left  her,  passed  from  the  room  with  rapid  strides, 
and,  slamming  the  door  behind  him,  disappeared.  Ma- 
dame Lcscande,  who  had  listened,  motionless,  and  pale 
as  marble,  remained  in  the  same  lifeless  attitude,  her 
eyes  fixed,  her  hands  clenched — yearning  from  the 
depths  of  her  heart  that  death  would  summon  her. 
Suddenly  a  singular  noise,  seeming  to  come  from  the 
next  room,  struck  her  ear.  It  was  only  a  convulsive  sob, 
or  violent  and  smothered  laughter.  The  wildest  and 
most  terrible  ideas  crowded  to  the  mind  of  the  unhappy 
woman;  the  foremost  of  them,  that  her  husband  had 
secretly  returned,  that  he  knew  all — that  his  brain  had 
given  way,  and  that  the  laughter  was  the  gibbering  of 
his  madness. 

Feeling  her  own  brain  begin  to  reel,  she  sprang  from 
the  sofa,  and  rushing  to  the  door,  threw  it  open.  The 
next  apartment  was  the  dining-room,  dimly  lighted  by 
a  hanging  lamp.  There  she  saw  Camors,  crouched 
upon  the  floor,  sobbing  furiously  and  beating  his  fore- 
head against  a  chair  which  he  strained  in  a  convulsive 
embrace.  Her  tongue  refused  its  office ;  she  could  find 
no  word,  but  seating  herself  near  him,  gave  way  to  her 
emotion,  and  wept  silently.  He  dragged  himself  nearer, 

[25] 


seized  the  hem  of  her  dress  and  covered  it  with  kisses; 
his  breast  heaved  tumultuously,  his  lips  trembled  and 
he  gasped  the  almost  inarticulate  words,  "Pardon!  Oh, 
pardon  me!" 

This  was  all  Then  he  rose  suddenly,  rushed  from 
the  house,  and  the  instant  after  she  heard  the  rolling  of 
the  wheels  as  his  carriage  whirled  him  away. 

If  there  were  no  morals  and  no  remorse,  French 
people  would  perhaps  be  happier.  But  unfortunately 
it  happens  that  a  young  woman,  who  believes  in  little, 
like  Madame  Lescande,  and  a  young  man  who  believes 
in  nothing,  like  M.  de  Camors,  can  not  have  the  pleas- 
ures of  an  independent  code  of  morals  without  suffering 
cruelly  afterward. 

A  thousand  old  prejudices,  which  they  think  long 
since  buried,  start  up  suddenly  in  their  consciences; 
and  these  revived  scruples  are  nearly  fatal  to  them. 

Camors  rushed  toward  Paris  at  the  greatest  speed  of 
his  thoroughbred,  Fitz-Aymon,  awakening  along  the 
route,  by  his  elegance  and  style,  sentiments  of  envy 
which  would  have  changed  to  pity  were  the  wounds  of 
the  heart  visible.  Bitter  weariness,  disgust  of  life  and 
disgust  for  himself,  were  no  new  sensations  to  this  young 
man ;  but  he  never  had  experienced  them  in  such  poig- 
nant intensity  as  at  this  cursed  hour,  when  flying  from 
the  dishonored  hearth  of  the  friend  of  his  boyhood.  No 
action  of  his  life  had  ever  thrown  such  a  flood  of  light 
on  the  depths  of  his  infamy  in  doing  such  gross  outrage 
to  the  friend  of  his  purer  days,  to  the  dear  confidant 
of  the  generous  thoughts  and  proud  aspirations  of  his 
youth.  He  knew  he  had  trampled  all  these  under  foot. 

[26] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

Like  Macbeth,  he  had  not  only  murdered  one  asleep, 
but  had  murdered  sleep  itself. 

His  reflections  became  insupportable.  He  thought 
successively  of  becoming  a  monk,  of  enlisting  as  a  soldier, 
and  of  getting  drunk — ere  he  reached  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  Royale  and  the  Boulevard.  Chance  favored  his 
last  design,  for  as  he  alighted  in  front  of  his  club,  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  pale  young  man,  who 
smiled  as  he  extended  his  hand.  Camors  recognized 
the  Prince  d'Errol. 

"The  deuce!  You  here,  my  Prince!  I  thought  you 
in  Cairo." 

"I  arrived  only  this  morning." 

"Ah,  then  you  are  better? — Your  chest?" 

"So-so." 

"Bah!  you  look  perfectly  well.  And  isn't  Cairo  a 
strange  place?" 

"Rather;  but  I  really  believe  Providence  has  sent 
you  to  me." 

"You  really  think  so,  my  Prince?    But  why?" 

"Because — pshaw!  I'll  tell  you  by-and-bye;  but 
first  I  want  to  hear  all  about  your  quarrel." 

"What  quarrel?" 

"Your  duel  for  Sarah." 

"That  is  to  say,  against  Sarah!" 

"Well,  tell  me  all  that  passed;  I  heard  of  it  only 
vaguely  while  abroad." 

"Well,  I  only  strove  to  do  a  good  action,  and,  accord- 
ing to  custom,  I  was  punished  for  it.  I  heard  it  said  that 
that  little  imbecile  La  Brede  borrowed  money  from  his 
little  sister  to  lavish  it  upon  that  Sarah.  This  was  so 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

unnatural  that  you  may  believe  it  first  disgusted,  and 
then  irritated  me.  One  day  at  the  club  I  could  not  resist 
saying,  'You  are  an  ass,  La  Brede,  to  ruin  yourself— 
worse  than  that,  to  ruin  your  sister,  for  the  sake  of  a 
snail,  as  little  sympathetic  as  Sarah,  a  girl  who  always 
has  a  cold  in  her  head,  and  who  has  already  deceived 
you.'  'Deceived  me!'  cried  La  Brede,  waving  his  long 
arms.  'Deceived  me!  and  with  whom?'  'With  me.' 
As  he  knew  I  never  lied,  he  panted  for  my  life.  Luckily 
my  life  is  a  tough  one." 

"You  put  him  in  bed  for  three  months,  I  hear." 
"Almost  as  long  as  that,  yes.    And  now,  my  friend, 
do  me  a  service.    I  am  a  bear,  a  savage,  a  ghost!    Assist 
me  to  return  to  life.     Let  us  go  and  sup  with  some 
sprightly  people  whose  virtue  is  extraordinary." 

"Agreed!    That  is  recommended  by  my  physician." 
"  From  Cairo  ?   Nothing  could  be  better,  my  Prince." 
Half  an  hour  later  Louis  de  Camors,  the  Prince 
d'Errol,  and  a  half-dozen  guests  of  both  sexes,  took  pos- 
session of  an  apartment,  the  closed  doors  of  which  we 
must  respect. 

Next  morning,  at  gray  dawn,  the  party  was  about  to 
disperse;  and  at  the  moment  a  ragpicker,  with  a  gray 
beard,  was  wandering  up  and  down  before  the  restau- 
rant, raking  with  his  hook  in  the  refuse  that  awaited 
the  public  sweepers.  In  closing  his  purse,  with  an  un- 
steady hand,  Camors  let  fall  a  shining  louis  d'or,  which 
rolled  into  the  mud  on  the  sidewalk.  The  ragpicker 
looked  up  with  a  timid  smile. 

"Ah!  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "what  falls  into  the  trend) 
shoukj  belong  to  the  soldier." 

[28] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"  Pick  it  up  with  your  teeth,  then,"  answered  Camors, 
laughing,  "and  it  is  yours." 

The  man  hesitated,  flushed  under  his  sunburned 
cheeks,  and  threw  a  look  of  deadly  hatred  upon  the 
laughing  group  round  him.  Then  he  knelt,  buried  his 
chest  in  the  mire,  and  sprang  up  next  moment  with  the 
coin  clenched  between  his  sharp  white  teeth.  The  spec- 
tators applauded.  The  chiffonnier  smiled  a  dark  smile, 
and  turned  away. 

"Hello,  my  friend!"  cried  Camors,  touching  his  arm, 
"would  you  like  to  earn  five  louis?  If  so,  give  me  a 
knock-down  blow.  That  will  give  you  pleasure  and 
do  me  good." 

The  man  turned,  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eye,  then 
suddenly  dealt  him  such  a  blow  in  the  face  that  he 
reeled  against  the  opposite  wall.  The  young  men  stand- 
ing by  made  a  movement  to  fall  upon  the  graybeard. 

"Let  no  one  harm  him!"  cried  Camors.  "Here,  my 
man,  are  your  hundred  francs." 

"Keep  them,"  replied  the  other,  "I  am  paid;"  and 
walked  away. 

"Bravo,  Belisarius!"  laughed  Camors.  "Faith,  gen- 
tlemen, I  do  not  know  whether  you  agree  with  me,  but 
I  am  really  charmed  with  this  little  episode.  I  must 
go  dream  upon  it.  By-bye,  young  ladies!  Good -day, 
Prince!" 

An  early  cab  was  passing,  he  jumped  in,  and  was 
driven  rapidly  to  his  hotel,  on  the  Rue  Babet-de-Jouy. 

The  door  of  the  courtyard  was  open,  but  being  still 
under  the  influence  of  the  wine  he  had  drunk,  he  failed 
to  notice  a  confused  group  of  servants  and  neighbors 

[29] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

standing  before  the  stable-doors.  Upon  seeing  him, 
these  people  became  suddenly  silent,  and  exchanged 
looks  of  sympathy  and  compassion.  Camors  occupied 
the  second  floor  of  the  hotel;  and  ascending  the  stairs, 
found  himself  suddenly  facing  his  father's  valet.  The 
man  was  very  pale,  and  held  a  sealed  paper,  which  he 
extended  with  a  trembling  hand. 

"What  is  it,  Joseph?"  asked  Camors. 

"A  letter  which — which  Monsieur  le  Comte  wrote  for 
you  before  he  left." 

" Before  he  left!  my  father  is  gone,  then?  But— 
where — how?  What,  the  devil!  why  do  you  weep?" 

Unable  to  speak,  the  servant  handed  him  the  paper. 
Camors  seized  it  and  tore  it  open. 

"  Good  God !  there  is  blood !  what  is  this ! "  He  read 
the  first  words — "My  son,  life  is  a  burden  to  me.  I 
leave  it —  "  and  fell  fainting  to  the  floor. 

The  poor  lad  loved  his  father,  notwithstanding  the 
past. 

They  carried  him  to  his  chamber. 


CHAPTER  III 

DEBRIS  FROM  THE  REVOLUTION 


DE  CAMORS,  on  leaving  col- 
lege, had  entered  upon  life  with  a 
heart  swelling  with  the  virtues  of 
youth  —  confidence,  enthusiasm,  sym- 
pathy. The  horrible  neglect  of  his 
early  education  had  not  corrupted  in 
his  veins  those  germs  of  weakness 
which,  as  his  father  declared,  his 
mother's  milk  had  deposited  there;  for  that  father,  by 
shutting  him  up  in  a  college  to  get  rid  of  him  for  twelve 
years,  had  rendered  him  the  greatest  service  in  his 
power. 

Those  classic  prisons  surely  do  good.  The  healthy 
discipline  of  the  school;  the  daily  contact  of  young, 
fresh  hearts;  the  long  familiarity  with  the  best  works, 
powerful  intellects,  and  great  souls  of  the  ancients- 
all  these  perhaps  may  not  inspire  a  very  rigid  morality, 
but  they  do  inspire  a  certain  sentimental  ideal  of  life 
and  of  duty  which  has  its  value. 

The  vague  heroism  which  Camors  first  conceived  he 
brought  away  with  him.  He  demanded  nothing,  as 
you  may  remember,  but  the  practical  formula  for  the 
time  and  country  in  which  he  was  destined  to  live. 
He  found,  doubtless,  that  the  task  he  set  himself  was 


OCTAVE  FETJILLET 

more  difficult  than  he  had  imagined;  that  the  truth  to 
which  he  would  devote  himself — but  which  he  must 
first  draw  from  the  bottom  of  its  well — did  not  stand 
upon  many  compliments.  But  he  failed  no  prepara- 
tion to  serve  her  valiantly  as  a  man  might,  as  soon  as 
she  answered  his  appeal.  He  had  the  advantage  of 
several  years  of  opposing  to  the  excitements  of  his  age 
and  of  an  opulent  life  the  austere  meditations  of  the 
poor  student. 

During  that  period  of  ardent,  laborious  youth,  he 
faithfully  shut  himself  up  in  libraries,  attended  public 
lectures,  and  gave  himself  a  solid  foundation  of  learn- 
ing, which  sometimes  awakened  surprise  when  discov- 
ered under  the  elegant  frivolity  of  the  gay  turfman. 
But  while  arming  himself  for  the  battle  of  life,  he  lost, 
little  by  little,  what  was  more  essential  than  the  best 
weapons — true  courage. 

In  proportion  as  he  followed  Truth  day  by  day,  she 
flew  before  and  eluded  him,  taking,  like  an  unpleasant 
vision,  the  form  of  the  thousand-headed  Chimera. 

About  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  Paris  was 
so  covered  with  political  and  religious  ruins,  that 
the  most  piercing  vision  could  scarcely  distinguish  the 
outlines  of  the  fresh  structures  of  the  future.  One 
could  see  that  everything  was  overthrown;  but  one 
could  not  see  any  power  that  was  to  raise  the  ruins. 
Over  the  confused  wrecks  and  remains  of  the  Past, 
the  powerful  intellectual  life  of  the  Present — Progress 
—the  collision  of  ideas — the  flame  of  French  wit- 
criticism  and  the  sciences — threw  a  brilliant  light, 
which,  like  the  sun  of  earlier  ages,  illuminated  the  chaos 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

without  making  it  productive.  The  phenomena  of  Life 
and  of  Death  were  commingled  in  one  huge  fermenta- 
tion, in  which  everything  decomposed  and  whence 
nothing  seemed  to  spring  up  again. 

At  no  period  of  history,  perhaps,  has  Truth  been 
less  simple,  more  enveloped  in  complications;  for  it 
seemed  that  all  essential  notions  of  humanity  had  been 
fused  in  a  great  furnace,  and  none  had  come  out  whole. 

The  spectacle  is  grand;  but  it  troubles  profoundly 
all  souls — or  at  least  those  that  interest  and  curiosity 
do  not  suffice  to  fill;  which  is  to  say,  nearly  all.  To 
disengage  from  this  bubbling  chaos  one  pure  religious 
moral,  one  positive  social  idea,  one  fixed  political 
creed,  were  an  enterprise  worthy  of  the  most  sincere. 
This  should  not  be  beyond  the  strength  of  a  man  of 
good  intentions;  and  Louis  de  Camors  might  have 
accomplished  the  task  had  he  been  aided  by  better 
instruction  and  guidance. 

It  is  the  common  misfortune  of  those  just  entering 
life  to  find  in  it  less  than  their  ideal.  But  in  this  re- 
spect Camors  was  born  under  a  particularly  unfortunate 
star,  for  he  found  in  his  surroundings — in  his  own  fam- 
ily even — only  the  worst  side  of  human  nature;  and,  in 
some  respects,  of  those  very  opinions  to  which  he  was 
tempted  to  adhere. 

The  Camors  were  originally  from  Brittany,  where 
they  had  held,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  large  posses- 
sions, particularly  some  extensive  forests,  which  still 
bear  their  name.  The  grandfather  of  Louis,  the 
Comte  Herve  de  Camors,  had,  on  his  return  from  the 
emigration,  bought  back  a  small  part  qf  the  hereditary 
3  [33] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

demesne.  There  he  established  himself  in  the  old- 
fashioned  style,  and  nourished  until  his  death  incur- 
able prejudices  against  the  French  Revolution  and 
against  Louis  XVIII. 

Count  Herve  had  four  children,  two  boys  and  two 
girls,  and,  feeling  it  his  duty  to  protest  against  the 
levelling  influences  of  the  Civil  Code,  he  established 
during  his  life,  by  a  legal  subterfuge,  a  sort  of  entail  in 
favor  of  his  eldest  son,  Charles-Henri,  to  the  prejudice 
of  Robert-Sosthene,  Eleanorc- Jeanne  and  Louise- 
Elizabeth,  his  other  heirs.  Eleanore- Jeanne  and 
Louise-Elizabeth  accepted  with  apparent  willingness 
the  act  that  benefited  their  brother  at  their  expense- 
notwithstanding  which  they  never  forgave  him.  But 
Robert-Sosthene,  who,  in  his  position  as  representative 
of  the  younger  branch,  affected  Liberal  leanings  and 
was  besides  loaded  with  debt,  rebelled  against  the 
paternal  procedure.  He  burned  his  visiting-cards, 
ornamented  with  the  family  crest  and  his  name— 
"Chevalier  Lange  d '  Ardennes  " — and  had  others 
printed,  simply  "Dardenncs,  Junior  (du  Morbihan)." 

Of  these  he  sent  a  specimen  to  his  father,  and  from 
that  hour  became  a  declared  Republican. 

There  are  people  who  attach  themselves  to  a  party 
by  their  virtues;  others,  again,  by  their  vices.  No 
recognized  political  party  exists  which  does  not  contain 
some  true  principle;  which  does  not  respond  to  some 
legitimate  aspiration  of  human  society.  At  the  same 
time,  there  is  not  one  which  can  not  serve  as  a  pretext, 
as  a  refuge,  and  as  a  hope,  for  the  basest  passions  of 
our  nature, 

[34] 


The  most  advanced  portion  of  the  Liberal  party  of 
France  is  composed  of  generous  spirits,  ardent  and 
absolute,  who  torture  a  really  elevated  ideal;  that  of  a 
society  of  manhood,  constituted  with  a  sort  of  philo- 
sophic perfection ;  her  own  mistress  each  day  and  each 
hour;  delegating  few  of  her  powers,  and  yielding  none; 
living,  not  without  laws,  but  without  rulers;  and,  in 
short,  developing  her  activity,  her  well-being,  her  gen- 
ius, with  that  fulness  of  justice,  of  independence,  and 
of  dignity,  which  republicanism  alone  gives  to  all  and 
to  each  one. 

Every  other  system  appears  to  them  to  preserve 
some  of  the  slaveries  and  iniquities  of  former  ages ;  and 
it  also  appears  open  to  the  suspicion  of  generating 
diverse  interests — and  often  hostile  ones — between  the 
governors  and  the  governed.  They  claim  for  all  that 
political  system  which,  without  doubt,  holds  humanity 
in  the  most  esteem;  and  however  one  may  despise  the 
practical  working  of  their  theory,  the  grandeur  of  its 
principles  can  not  be  despised. 

They  are  in  reality  a  proud  race,  great-hearted  and 
high-spirited.  They  have  had  in  their  age  their  heroes 
and  their  martyrs;  but  they  have  had,  on  the  other 
hand,  their  hypocrites,  their  adventurers,  and  their 
radicals — their  greatest  enemies. 

Young  Dardennes,  to  obtain  grace  for  the  equivocal 
origin  of  his  convictions,  placed  himself  in  the  front 
rank  of  these  last. 

Until  he  left  college  Louis  de  Camors  never  knew  his 
uncle,  who  had  remained  on  bad  terms  with  his  father; 
but  he  entertained  for  him,  in  secret,  an  enthusiastic 

[35] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

admiration,  attributing  to  him  all  the  virtues  of  that 
principle  of  which  he  seemed  the  exponent. 

The  Republic  of  '48  soon  died :  his  uncle  was  among 
the  vanquished;  and  this,  to  the  young  man,  had  but 
an  additional  attraction.  Without  his  father's  knowl- 
edge, he  went  to  see  him,  as  if  on  a  pilgrimage  to  a  holy 
shrine;  and  he  was  well  received. 

He  found  his  uncle  exasperated — not  so  much  against 
his  enemies  as  against  his  ov;n  party,  to  which  he  at- 
tributed all  the  disasters  of  the  cause. 

"They  never  can  make  revolutions  with  gloves  on," 
he  said  in  a  solemn,  dogmatic  tone.  "The  men  of 
'ninety-three  did  not  wear  them.  You  can  not  make 
an  omelette  without  first  breaking  the  eggs. 

"The  pioneers  of  the  future  should  march  on,  axe 
in  hand! 

"The  chrysalis  of  the  people  is  not  hatched  upon 
roses ! 

"Liberty  is  a  goddess  who  demands  great  holocausts. 
Had  they  made  a  Reign  of  Terror  in  'forty-eight,  they 
would  now  be  masters!" 

These  high-flown  maxims  astonished  Louis  de 
Camors.  In  his  youthful  simplicity  he  had  an  infinite 
respect  for  the  men  who  had  governed  his  country  in 
her  darkest  hour;  not  more  that  they  had  given  up 
power  as  poor  as  when  they  assumed  it,  than  that  they 
left  it  with  their  hands  unstained  with  blood.  To  this 
praise — which  will  be  accorded  them  in  history,  which 
redresses  many  contemporary  injustices — he  added  a 
reproach  which  he  could  not  reconcile  with  the  strange 
regrets  of  his  uncle.  He  reproached  them  with  not 

[36] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

having  more  boldly  separated  the  New  Republic,  in  its 
management  and  minor  details,  from  the  memories  of 
the  old  one.  Far  from  agreeing  with  his  uncle  that  a 
revival  of  the  horrors  of  'ninety-three  would  have  assured 
the  triumph  of  the  New  Republic,  he  believed  it  had 
sunk  under  the  bloody  shadow  of  its  predecessor.  He 
believed  that,  owing  to  this  boasted  Terror,  France  had 
been  for  centuries  the  only  country  in  which  the  dan- 
gers of  liberty  outweighed  its  benefits. 

It  is  useless  to  dwell  longer  on  the  relations  of  Louis 
de  Camors  with  his  uncle  Dardennes.  It  is  enough 
that  he  was  doubtful  and  discouraged,  and  made  the 
error  of  holding  the  cause  responsible  for  the  violence 
of  its  lesser  apostles,  and  that  he  adopted  the  fatal  error, 
too  common  in  France  at  that  period,  of  confounding 
progress  with  discord,  liberty  with  license,  and  revolu- 
tion with  terrorism! 

The  natural  result  of  irritation  and  disenchantment 
on  this  ardent  spirit  was  to  swing  it  rapidly  around  to 
the  opposite  pole  of  opinion.  After  all,  Camors  argued, 
his  birth,  his  name,  his  family  ties  all  pointed  out  his 
true  course,  which  was  to  combat  the  cruel  and  despotic 
doctrines  which  he  believed  he  detected  under  these 
democratic  theories.  Another  thing  in  the  habitual 
language  of  his  uncle  also  shocked  and  repelled  him— 
the  profession  of  an  absolute  atheism.  He  had  within 
him,  in  default  of  a  formal  creed,  a  fund  of  general 
belief  and  respect  for  holy  things — that  kind  of  religious 
sensibility  which  was  shocked  by  impious  cynicism. 
Further  he  could  not  comprehend  then,  or  ever  after- 
ward, how  principles  alone,  without  faith  in  some  higher 

[37] 


*  i  >-:••*• 

.  -•   tt    . 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

sanction,  could  sustain  themselves  by  their  own  strength 
in  the  human  conscience. 

God — or  no  principles!  This  was  the  dilemma  from 
which  no  German  philosophy  could  rescue  him. 

This  reaction  in  his  mind  drew  him  closer  to  those 
other  branches  of  his  family  which  he  had  hitherto 
neglected.  His  two  aunts,  living  at  Paris,  had  been 
compelled,  in  consequence  of  their  small  fortunes,  to 
make  some  sacrifices  to  enter  into  the  blessed  state  of 
matrimony.  The  elder,  Eleanore- Jeanne,  had  mar- 
ried, during  her  father's  life,  the  Comte  de  la  Roche- 
Jugan — a  man  long  past  fifty,  but  still  well  worthy  of 
being  loved.  Nevertheless,  his  wife  did  not  love  him. 
Their  views  on  many  essential  points  differed  widely. 
M.  de  la  Roche- Jugan  was  one  of  those  who  had  served 
the  Government  of  the  Restoration  with  an  unshaken 
but  hopeless  devotion.  In  his  youth  he  had  been  at- 
tached to  the  person  and  to  the  ministry  of  the  Due  de 
Richelieu;  and  he  had  preserved  the  memory  of  that 
illustrious  man — of  the  elevated  moderation  of  his  sen- 
timents— of  the  warmth  of  his  patriotism  and  of  his 
constancy.  He  saw  the  pitfalls  ahead,  pointed  them 
out  to  his  prince — displeased  him  by  so  doing,  but  still 
followed  his  fortunes.  Once  more  retired  to  private 
life  with  but  small  means,  he  guarded  his  political  prin- 
ciples rather  like  a  religion  than  a  hope.  His  hopes, 
his  vivacity,  his  love  of  right — all  these  he  turned  to- 
ward God. 

His  piety,  as  enlightened  as  profound,  ranked  him 
among  the  choicest  spirits  who  then  endeavored  to 
reconcile  the  national  faith  of  the  past  with  the  inexor- 

[38] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

able  liberty  of  thought  of  the  present.  Like  his  co- 
laborers  in  this  work,  he  experienced  only  a  mortal 
sadness  under  which  he  sank.  True,  his  wife  contribu- 
ted no  little  to  hasten  his  end  by  the  intemperance  of 
her  zeal  and  the  acrimony  of  her  bigotry. 

She  had  little  heart  and  great  pride,  and  made  her 
God  subserve  her  passions,  as  Dardennes  made  liberty 
subserve  his  malice. 

No  sooner  had  she  become  a  widow  than  she  purified 
her  salons.  Thenceforth  figured  there  only  parishion- 
ers more  orthodox  than  their  bishops,  French  priests 
who  denied  Bossuet;  consequently  she  believed  that 
religion  was  saved  in  France.  Louis  de  Camors,  ad- 
mitted to  this  choice  circle  by  title  both  of  relative 
and  convert,  found  there  the  devotion  of  Louis  XI  and 
the  charity  of  Catherine  de  Medicis;  and  he  there  lost 
very  soon  the  little  faith  that  remained  to  him. 

He  asked  himself  sadly  whether  there  was  no  middle 
ground  between  Terror  and  Inquisition;  whether  in 
this  world  one  must  be  a  fanatic  or  nothing.  He  sought 
a  middle  course,  possessing  the  force  and  cohesion  of  a 
party;  but  he  sought  in  vain.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
the  whole  world  of  politics  and  religion  rushed  to  ex- 
tremes; and  that  what  was  not  extreme  was  inert  and 
indifferent — dragging  out,  day  by  day,  an  existence 
without  faith  and  without  principle. 

Thus  at  least  appeared  to  him  those  whom  the  sad 
changes  of  his  life  showed  him  as  types  of  modern 
politics. 

His  younger  aunt,  Louise-Elizabeth,  who  enjoyed  to 
the  full  all  the  pleasures  of  modern  life,  had  already 

[39] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

profited  by  her  father's  death  to  make  a  rich  misalliance. 
She  married  the  Baron  Tonnelier,  whose  father,  although 
the  son  of  a  miller,  had  shown  ability  and  honesty 
enough  to  fill  high  positions  under  .the  First  Empire. 

The  Baron  Tonnelier  had  a  large  fortune,  increasing 
every  day  by  successful  speculation.  In  his  youth  he 
had  been  a  good  horseman,  a  Voltairian,  and  a  Liberal. 

In  time — though  he  remained  a  Voltairian — he  re- 
nounced horsemanship,  and  Liberalism.  Although  he 
was  a  simple  deputy,  he  had  a  twinge  of  democracy  now 
and  then;  but  after  he  was  invested  with  the  peerage, 
he  felt  sure  from  that  moment  that  the  human  species 
had  no  more  progress  to  make. 

The  French  Revolution  was  ended;  its  giddiest 
height  attained.  No  longer  could  any  one  walk,  talk, 
write,  or  rise.  That  perplexed  him.  Had  he  been 
sincere,  he  would  have  avowed  that  he  could  not  com- 
prehend that  there  could  be  storms,  or  thunder-clouds 
in  the  heavens — that  the  world  was  not  perfectly  hap- 
py and  tranquil,  while  he  himself  was  so.  When  his 
nephew  was  old  enough  to  comprehend  him,  Baron 
Tonnelier  was  no  longer  peer  of  France ;  but  being  one 
who  does  himself  no  hurt — and  sometimes  much  good 
—by  a  fall,  he  filled  a  high  office  under  the  new  gov- 
ernment. He  endeavored  to  discharge  its  duties  con- 
scientiously, as  he  had  those  of  the  preceding  reign. 

He  spoke  with  peculiar  case  of  suppressing  this  or 
that  journal — such  an  orator,  such  a  book;  of  sup- 
pressing everything,  in  short,  except  himself.  In  his 
view,  France  had  been  in  the  wrong  road  since  1789, 
and  he  sought  to  lead  her  back  from  that  fatal  date. 

[40] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

Nevertheless,  he  never  spoke  of  returning,  in  his 
proper  person,  to  his  grandfather's  mill;  which,  to  say 
the  least,  was  inconsistent.  Had  Liberty  been  mother 
to  this  old  gentleman,  and  had  he  met  her  in  a  clump 
of  woods,  he  would  have  strangled  her.  We  regret  to 
add  that  he  had  the  habit  of  terming  "old  duffers" 
such  ministers  as  he  suspected  of  liberal  views,  and 
especially  such  as  were  in  favor  of  popular  education. 
A  more  hurtful  counsellor  never  approached  a  throne; 
but  luckily,  while  near  it  in  office,  he  was  far  from  it  in 
influence. 

He  was  still  a  charming  man,  gallant  and  fresh- 
more  gallant,  however,  than  fresh.  Consequently  his 
habits  were  not  too  good,  and  he  haunted  the  green- 
room of  the  opera.  He  had  two  daughters,  recently 
married,  before  whom  he  repeated  the  most  piquant 
witticisms  of  Voltaire,  and  the  most  improper  stories  of 
Tallemant  de  Re*aux ;  and  consequently  both  promised 
to  afford  the  scandalmongers  a  series  of  racy  anecdotes, 
as  their  mother  had  before  them. 

While  Louis  de  Camors  was  learning  rapidly,  by  the 
association  and  example  of  the  collateral  branches  of 
his  family,  to  defy  equally  all  principles  and  all  convic- 
tions, his  terrible  father  finished  the  task. 

Worldling  to  the  last  extreme,  depraved  to  his  very 
core;  past-master  in  the  art  of  Parisian  high  life;  an 
unbridled  egotist,  thinking  himself  superior  to  every- 
thing because  he  abased  everything  to  himself;  and, 
finally,  flattering  himself  for  despising  all  duties,  which 
he  had  all  his  life  prided  himself  on  dispensing  with— 
such  was  his  father.  But  for  all  this,  he  was  the  pride 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

of  his  circle,  with  a  pleasing  presence  and  an  indefina- 
ble charm  of  manner. 

The  father  and  son  saw  little  of  each  other.  M.  de 
Camors  was  too  proud  to  entangle  his  son  in  his  own 
debaucheries;  but  the  course  of  every-day  life  some- 
times brought  them  together  at  meal-time.  He  would 
then  listen  with  cool  mockery  to  the  enthusiastic  or 
despondent  speeches  of  the  youth.  He  never  deigned 
to  argue  seriously,  but  responded  in  a  few  bitter  words, 
that  fell  like  drops  of  sleet  on  the  few  sparks  still  glow- 
ing in  the  son's  heart. 

Becoming  gradually  discouraged,  the  latter  lost  all 
taste  for  work,  and  gave  himself  up,  more  and  more,  to 
the  idle  pleasures  of  his  position.  Abandoning  himself 
wholly  to  these,  he  threw  into  them  all  the  seductions 
of  his  person,  all  the  generosity  of  his  character — but 
at  the  same  time  a  sadness  always  gloomy,  sometimes 
desperate. 

The  bitter  malice  he  displayed,  however,  did  not  pre- 
vent his  being  loved  by  women  and  renowned  among 
men.  And  the  latter  imitated  him. 

He  aided  materially  in  founding  a  charming  school 
of  youth  without  smiles.  His  air  of  ennui  and  lassi- 
tude, which  with  him  at  least  had  the  excuse  of  a  seri- 
ous foundation,  was  servilely  copied  by  the  youth  around 
him,  who  never  knew  any  greater  distress  than  an  over- 
loaded stomach,  but  whom  it  pleased,  nevertheless,  to 
appear  faded  in  their  flower  and  contemptuous  of  hu- 
man nature. 

We  have  seen  Camors  in  this  phase  of  his  existence. 
But  in  reality  nothing  was  more  foreign  to  him  than 

[42] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  mask  of  careless  disdain  that  the  young  man  as- 
sumed. Upon  falling  into  the  common  ditch,  he,  per- 
haps, had  one  advantage  over  his  fellows:  he  did  not 
make  his  bed  with  base  resignation;  he  tried  persist- 
ently to  raise  himself  from  it  by  a  violent  struggle,  only 
to  be  hurled  upon  it  once  more. 

Strong  souls  do  not  sleep  easily :  indifference  weighs 
them  down. 

They  demand  a  mission — a  motive  for  action — and 
faith. 

Louis  de  Camors  was  yet  to  find  his. 


[43] 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  NEW  ACTRESS  IN  A  NOVEL 

*OUIS  DE  CAMORS'S  father  had  not 
told  him  all  in  that  last  letter. 

Instead  of  leaving  him  a  fortune, 
he  left  him  only  embarrassments,  for 
he  was  three  fourths  ruined.  The 
disorder  of  his  affairs  had  begun  a 
long  time  before,  and  it  was  to  repair 
them  that  he  had  married;  a  process 
that  had  not  proved  successful.  A  large  inheritance 
on  which  he  had  relied  as  coming  to  his  wife  went  else- 
where— to  endow  a  charity  hospital.  The  Comte  de 
Camors  began  a  suit  to  recover  it  before  the  tribunal  of 
the  Council  of  State,  but  compromised  it  for  an  annuity 
of  thirty  thousand  francs.  This  stopped  at  his  death. 
He  enjoyed,  besides,  several  fat  sinecures,  which  his 
name,  his  social  rank,  and  his  personal  address  secured 
him  from  some  of  the  great  insurance  companies.  But 
these  resources  did  not  survive  him;  he  only  rented 
the  house  he  had  occupied;  and  the  young  Comte  do 
Camors  found  himself  suddenly  reduced  to  the  provision 
of  his  mother's  dowry — a  bare  pittance  to  a  man  of  his 
habits  and  rank. 

His  father  had  often  assured  him  he  could  leave  him 
nothing,  so  the  son  was  accustomed  to  look  forward  to 

[44] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

this  situation.  Therefore,  when  he  realized  it,  he  was 
neither  surprised  nor  revolted  by  the  improvident  ego- 
tism of  which  he  was  the  victim.  His  reverence  for  his 
father  continued  unabated,  and  he  did  not  read  with 
the  less  respect  or  confidence  the  singular  missive  which 
figures  at  the  beginning  of  this  story.  The  moral  theo- 
ries which  this  letter  advanced  were  not  new  to  him. 
They  were  a  part  of  the  very  atmosphere  around  him; 
he  had  often  revolved  them  in  his  feverish  brain;  yet, 
never  before  had  they  appeared  to  him  in  the  condensed 
form  of  a  dogma,  with  the  clear  precision  of  a  practical 
code;  nor  as  now,  with  the  authorization  of  such  a 
voice  and  of  such  an  example. 

One  incident  gave  powerful  aid  in  confirming  the 
impression  of  these  last  pages  on  his  mind.  Eight 
days  after  his  father's  death,  he  was  reclining  on  the 
lounge  in  his  smoking-room,  his  face  dark  as  night  and 
as  his  thoughts,  when  a  servant  entered  and  handed 
him  a  card.  He  took  it  listlessly,  and  read — "  Lescande, 
architect."  Two  red  spots  rose  to  his  pale  cheeks — "I 
do  not  see  any  one,"  he  said. 

"So  I  told  this  gentleman,"  replied  the  servant,  "but 
he  insists  in  such  an  extraordinary  manner— 

"In  an  extraordinary  manner?" 

"Yes,  sir;  as  if  he  had  something  very  serious  to 
communicate." 

"Something  serious — aha!  Then  let  him  in."  Ca- 
mors  rose  and  paced  the  chamber,  a  smile  of  bitter 
mockery  wreathing  his  lips.  "And  must  I  now  kill 
him?"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth. 

Lescande  entered,  and  his  first  act  dissipated  the 

[45] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

apprehension  his  conduct  had  caused.  He  rushed  to 
the  young  Count  and  seized  him  by  both  hands,  while 
Camors  remarked  that  his  face  was  troubled  and  his 
lips  trembled.  "Sit  down  and  be  calm,"  he  said. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  other,  after  a  pause,  "I  come 
late  to  see  you,  for  which  I  crave  pardon;  but — I  am 
myself  so  miserable!  .  See,  I  am  in  mourning!" 

Camors  felt  a  chill  run  to  his  very  marrow.  "In 
mourning! — and  why?"  he  asked,  mechanically. 

"Juliette  is  dead!"  sobbed  Lescande,  and  covered 
his  eyes  with  his  great  hands. 

"Great  God!"  cried  Camors  in  a  hollow  voice.  He 
listened  a  moment  to  Lescande' s  bitter  sobs,  then  made 
a  movement  to  take  his  hand,  but  dared  not  do  it. 
"Great  God!  is  it  possible?"  he  repeated. 

"It  was  so  sudden!"  sobbed  Lescande,  brokenly. 
"It  seems  like  a  dream — a  frightful  dream !  You  know 
the  last  time  you  visited  us  she  was  not  well.  You  re- 
member I  told  you  she  had  wept  all  day.  Poor  child ! 
The  morning  of  my  return  she  was  seized  with  conges- 
tion— of  the  lungs — of  the  brain — I  don't  know! — but 
she  is  dead!  And  so  good! — so  gentle,  so  loving! — to 
the  last  moment!  Oh,  my  friend!  my  friend!  A  few 
moments  before  she  died,  she  called  me  to  her  side. 
'Oh,  I  love  you  so!  I  love  you  so!'  she  said.  'I  never 
loved  any  but  you — you  only!  Pardon  me! — oh,  par- 
don me!'  Pardon  her,  poor  child !  My  God,  for  what? 
for  dying? — for  she  never  gave  me  a  moment's  grief 
before  in  this  world.  Oh,  God  of  mercy!" 

"I  beseech  you,  my  friend— 

"Yes,  yes,  I  do  wrong.  You  also  have  your  griefs, 

[46] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

But  we  are  all  selfish,  you  know.  However,  it  was  not 
of  that  that  I  came  to  speak.  Tell  me — I  know  not 
whether  a  report  I  hear  is  correct.  Pardon  me  if  I 
mistake,  for  you  know  I  never  would  dream  of  offending 
you;  but  they  say  that  you  have  been  left  in  very  bad 
circumstances.  If  this  is  indeed  so,  my  friend— 

"It  is  not,"  interrupted  Camors,  abruptly. 

"Well,  if  it  were — I  do  not  intend  keeping  my  little 
house.  Why  should  I,  now?  My  little  son  can  wait 
while  I  work  for  him.  Then,  after  selling  my  house,  I 
shall  have  two  hundred  thousand  francs.  Half  of  this 
is  yours — return  it  when  you  can!" 

"I  thank  you,  my  unselfish  friend,"  replied  Camors, 
much  moved,  "but  I  need  nothing.  My  affairs  are 
disordered,  it  is  true;  but  I  shall  still  remain  richer  than 
you." 

"Yes,  but  with  your  tastes— 

"Well?" 

"At  all  events,  you  know  where  to  find  me.  I  may 
count  upon  you — may  I  not?" 

"You  may." 

"Adieu,  my  friend!  I  can  do  you  no  good  now;  but 
I  shall  see  you  again — shall  I  not?" 

"Yes — another  time." 

Lescande  departed,  and  the  young  Count  remained 
immovable,  with  his  features  convulsed  and  his  eyes 
fixed  on  vacancy. 

This  moment  decided  his  whole  future. 

Sometimes  a  man  feels  a  sudden,  unaccountable  im- 
pulse to  smother  in  himself  all  human  love  and  sym- 
pathy. 

[47] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

In  the  presence  of  this  unhappy  man,  so  unworthily 
treated,  so  broken-spirited,  so  confiding,  Camors — if 
there  be  any  truth  in  old  spiritual  laws — should  have 
seen  himself  guilty  of  an  atrocious  act,  which  should 
have  condemned  him  to  a  remorse  almost  unbear- 
able. 

But  if  it  were  true  that  the  human  herd  was  but  the 
product  of  material  forces  in  nature,  producing,  hap- 
hazard, strong  beings  and  weak  ones- — lambs  and  lions 
—he  had  played  only  the  lion's  part  in  destroying  his 
companion.  He  said  to  himself,  with  his  father's  letter 
beneath  his  eyes,  that  this  was  the  fact ;  and  the  reflec- 
tion calmed  him. 

The  more  he  thought,  that  day  and  the  next,  in  depth 
of  the  retreat  in  which  he  had  buried  himself,  the  more 
was  he  persuaded  that  this  doctrine  was  that  very  truth 
which  he  had  sought,  and  which  his  father  had  be- 
queathed to  him  as  the  whole  rule  of  his  life.  His  cold 
and  barren  heart  opened  with  a  voluptuous  pleasure 
under  this  new  flame  that  filled  and  warmed  it. 

From  this  moment  he  possessed  a  faith — a  principle 
of  action — a  plan  of  life — all  that  he  needed ;  and  was 
no  longer  oppressed  by  doubts,  agitation,  and  remorse. 
This  doctrine,  if  not  the  most  elevated,  was  at  least 
above  the  level  of  the  most  of  mankind.  It  satisfied 
his  pride  and  justified  his  scorn. 

To  preserve  his  self-esteem,  it  was  only  necessary  for 
him  to  preserve  his  honor,  to  do  nothing  low,  as  his 
father  had  said;  and  he  determined  never  to  do  any- 
thing which,  in  his  eyes,  partook  of  that  character. 
Moreover,  were  there  not  men  he  himself  had  met  thor- 

[48] 


oughly  steeped  in  materialism,  who  were  yet  regarded 
as  the  most  honorable  men  of  their  day  ? 

Perhaps  he  might  have  asked  himself  whether  this 
incontestable  fact  might  not,  in  part,  have  been  attribu- 
ted rather  to  the  individual  than  to  the  doctrine;  and 
whether  men's  beliefs  did  not  always  influence  their 
actions.  However  that  might  have  been,  from  the  date 
of  this  crisis  Louis  de  Camors  made  his  father's  will 
the  rule  of  his  life. 

To  develop  in  all  their  strength  the  physical  and 
intellectual  gifts  which  he  possessed;  to  make  cf  him- 
self the  polished  type  of  the  civilization  of  the  times; 
to  charm  women  and  control  men;  to  revel  in  all  the 
joys  of  intellect,  of  the  senses,  and  of  rank;  to  subdue 
as  servile  instincts  all  natural  sentiments;  to  scorn,  as 
chimeras  and  hypocrisies,  all  vulgar  beliefs;  to  love 
nothing,  fear  nothing,  respect  nothing,  save  honor- 
such,  in  fine,  were  the  duties  which  he  recognized,  and 
the  rights  which  he  arrogated  to  himself. 

It  was  with  these  redoubtable  weapons,  and  strength- 
ened by  a  keen  intelligence  and  vigorous  will,  that  he 
would  return  to  the  world — his  brow  calm  and  grave, 
his  eye  caressing  while  unyielding,  a  smile  upon  his 
lips,  as  men  had  known  him. 

From  this  moment  there  was  no  cloud  either  upon 
his  mind  or  upon  his  face,  which  wore  the  aspect  of 
perpetual  youth.  He  determined,  above  all,  not  to  re- 
trench, but  to  preserve,  despite  the  narrowness  of  his 
present  fortune,  those  habits  of  elegant  luxury  in  which 
he  still  might  indulge  for  several  years,  by  the  expendi- 
ture of  his  principal, 

4  [49] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Both  pride  and  policy  gave  him  this  council  in  an 
equal  degree.  He  was  not  ignorant  that  the  world  is  as 
cold  toward  the  needy  as  it  is  warm  to  those  not  needing 
its  countenance.  Had  he  been  thus  ignorant,  the  atti- 
tude of  his  family,  just  after  the  death  of  his  father, 
would  have  opened  his  eyes  to  the  fact. 

His  aunt  de  la  Roche- Jugan  and  his  uncle  Tonnelier 
manifested  toward  him  the  cold  circumspection  of  peo- 
ple who  suspected  they  were  dealing  with  a  ruined  man. 
They  had  even,  for  greater  security,  left  Paris,  and 
neglected  to  notify  the  young  Count  in  what  retreat  they 
had  chosen  to  hide  their  grief.  Nevertheless  he  was 
soon  to  learn  it,  for  while  he  was  busied  in  settling  his 
father's  affairs  and  organizing  his  own  projects  of  for- 
tune and  ambition,  one  fine  morning  in  August  he  met 
with  a  lively  surprise. 

He  counted  among  his  relatives  one  of  the  richest 
landed  proprietors  of  France,  General  the  Marquis 
de  Campvallon  d'Armignes,  celebrated  for  his  fearful 
outbursts  in  the  Corps  Le*gislatif.  He  had  a  voice  of 
thunder,  and  when  he  rolled  out,  "Bah!  Enough! 
Stop  this  order  of  the  day!"  the  senate  trembled,  and 
the  government  commissioners  bounced  on  their  chairs. 
Yet  he  was  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  although  he 
had  killed  two  fellow-creatures  in  duels — but  then  he 
had  his  reasons  for  that. 

Camors  knew  him  but  slightly,  paid  him  the  neces- 
sary respect  that  politeness  demanded  toward  a  relative ; 
met  him  sometimes  at  the  club,  over  a  game  of  whist, 
and  that  was  all. 

Two  years  before,  the  General  had  lost  a  nephew, 

[So] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  direct  heir  to  his  name  and  fortune.  Consequently 
he  was  hunted  by  an  eager  pack  of  cousins  and  relatives ; 
and  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  and  the  Baroness  Ton- 
nelier  gave  tongue  in  their  foremost  rank. 

Camors  was  indifferent,  and  had,  since  that  event, 
been  particularly  reserved  in  his  intercourse  with  the 
General.  Therefore  he  was  considerably  astonished 
when  he  received  the  following  letter  :— 

"DEAR  KINSMAN: 

"  Your  two  aunts  and  their  families  are  with  me  in  the  country. 
When  it  is  agreeable  to  you  to  join  them,  I  shall  always  feel  happy 
to  give  a  cordial  greeting  to  the  son  of  an  old  friend  and  companion- 
in-arms. 

"  I  presented  myself  at  your  house  before  leaving  Paris,  but  you 
were  not  visible. 

'*  Believe  me,  I  comprehend  your  grief:  that  you  have  experienced 
an  irreparable  loss,  in  which  I  sympathize  with  you  most  sincerely. 

"  Receive,  my  dear  kinsman,  the  best  wishes  of 
GENERAL,  THE 

MARQUIS  DE  CAMPVALLON  D'ARMIGNES. 

"CHATEAU  DE  CAMPVALLON,  Voie  de  1'ouest. 

"P.S. — It  is  probable,  my  young  cousin,  that  I  may  have  some- 
thing of  interest  to  communicate  to  you!" 

This  last  sentence,  and  the  exclamation  mark  that 
followed  it,  failed  not  to  shake  slightly  the  impassive 
calm  that  Camors  was  at  that  moment  cultivating.  He 
could  not  help  seeing,  as  in  a  mirror,  under  the  veil  of 
the  mysterious  postscript,  the  reflection  of  seven  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  of  ground-rent  which  made  the 
splendid  income  of  the  General.  He  recalled  that  his 
father,  who  had  served  some  time  in  Africa,  had  been 

[Si] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

attached  to  the  staff  of  M.  de  Campvallon  as  aide-de- 
camp, and  that  he  had  besides  rendered  him  a  great 
service  ofa  different  nature. 

Notwithstanding  that  he  felt  the  absurdity  of  these 
dreams,  and  wished  to  keep  his  heart  free  from  them, 
he  left  the  next  day  for  Campvallon.  After  enjoying  for 
seven  or  eight  hours  all  the  comforts  and  luxuries  the 
Western  line  is  reputed  to  afford  its  guests,  Camors 
arrived  in  the  evening  at  the  station,  where  the  Gener- 
al's carriage  awaited  him.  The  seignorial  pile  of  the 
Chateau  Campvallon  soon  appeared  to  him  on  a  height, 
of  which  the  sides  were  covered  with  magnificent  woods, 
sloping  down  nearly  to  the  plain,  there  spreading  out 
widely. 

It  was  almost  the  dinner-hour;  and  the  young  man, 
after  arranging  his  toilet,  immediately  descended  to  the 
drawing-room,  where  his  presence  seemed  to  throw  a 
wet  blanket  over  the  assembled  circle.  To  make  up  for 
this,  the  General  gave  him  the  warmest  welcome ;  only 
— as  he  had  a  short  memory  or  little  imagination — he 
found  nothing  better  to  say  than  to  repeat  the  expres- 
sions of  his  letter,  while  squeezing  his  hand  almost  to 
the  point  of  fracture. 

"The  son  of  my  old  friend  and  companion-in-arms," 
he  cried;  and  the  words  rang  out  in  such  a  sonorous 
voice  they  seemed  to  impress  even  himself — for  it  was 
noticeable  that  after  a  remark,  the  General  always 
seemed  astonished,  as  if  startled  by  the  words  that  came 
out  of  his  mouth— and  that  seemed  suddenly  to  expand 
the  compass  of  his  ideas  and  the  depth  of  his  senti- 
ments. 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

To  complete  his  portrait:  he  was  of  medium  size, 
square,  and  stout;  panting  when  he  ascended  stairs, 
or  even  walking  on  level  ground;  a  face  massive  and 
broad  as  a  mask,  and  reminding  one  of  those  fabled 
beings  who  blew  fire  from  their  nostrils;  a  huge  mous- 
tache, white  and  grizzly;  small  gray  eyes,  always  fixed, 
like  those  of  a  doll,  but  still  terrible.  He  marched  to- 
ward a  man  slowly,  imposingly,  with  eyes  fixed,  as  if 
beginning  a  duel  to  the  death,  and  demanded  of  him 
imperatively — the  time  of  day! 

Camors  well  knew  this  innocent  weakness  of  his  host, 
but,  notwithstanding,  was  its  dupe  for  one  instant  dur- 
ing the  evening. 

They  had  left  the  dining- table,  and  he  was  standing 
carelessly  in  the  alcove  of  a  window,  holding  a  cup  of 
coffee,  when  the  General  approached  him  from  the 
extreme  end  of  the  room  with  a  severe  yet  confidential 
expression,  which  seemed  to  preface  an  announcement 
of  the  greatest  importance. 

The  postscript  rose  before  him.  He  felt  he  was  to 
have  an  immediate  explanation. 

The  General  approached,  seized  him  by  the  button- 
hole, and  withdrawing  him  from  the  depth  of  the  recess, 
looked  into  his  eyes  as  if  he  wished  to  penetrate  his  very 
soul.  Suddenly  he  spoke,  in  his  thunderous  voice.  He 
said: 

"What  do  you  take  in  the  morning,  young 
man?" 

"Tea,  General." 

"Aha!  Then  give  your  orders  to  Pierre — just  as  if 
you  were  at  home;"  and,  turning  on  his  heel  and  join- 

[53] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

ing  the  ladies,  he  left  Camors  to  digest  his  little  comedy 
as  he  might. 

Eight  days  passed.  Twice  the  General  made  his 
guest  the  object  of  his  formidable  advance.  The  first 
time,  having  put  him  out  of  countenance,  he  contented 
himself  with  exclaiming: 

"Well,  young  man!"  and  turned  on  his  heel. 

The  next  time  he  bore  down  upon  Camors,  he  said 
not  a  word,  and  retired  in  silence. 

Evidently  the  General  had  not  the  slightest  recollec- 
tion of  the  postscript.  Camors  tried  to  be  contented, 
but  would  continually  ask  himself  why  he  had  come  to 
Campvallon,  in  the  midst  of  his  family,  of  whom  he  was 
not  overfond,  and  in  the  depths  of  the  country,  which 
he  execrated.  Luckily,  the  castle  boasted  a  library  well 
stocked  with  works  on  civil  and  international  law,  juris- 
prudence, and  political  economy.  He  took  advantage 
of  it;  and,  resuming  the  thread  of  those  serious  studies 
which  had  been  broken  off  during  his  period  of  hope- 
lessness, plunged  into  those  recondite  themes  that 
pleased  his  active  intelligence  and  his  awakened  ambi- 
tion. Thus  he  waited  patiently  until  politeness  would 
permit  him  to  bring  to  an  explanation  the  former  friend 
and  companion-in-arms  of  his  father.  In  the  morning 
he  rode  on  horseback;  gave  a  lesson  in  fencing  to  his 
cousin  Sigismund,  the  son  of  Madame  de  la  Roche- 
Jugan;  then  shut  himself  up  in  the  library  until  the 
evening,  which  he  passed  at  bezique  with  the  General. 
Meantime  he  viewed  with  the  eye  of  a  philosopher  the 
strife  of  the  covetous  relatives  who  hovered  around  their 
rich  prey. 

[54] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  had  invented  an  original 
way  of  making  herself  agreeable  to  the  General,  which 
was  to  persuade  him  he  had  disease  of  the  heart.  She 
continually  felt  his  pulse  with  her  plump  hand,  some- 
times reassuring  him,  and  at  others  inspiring  him  with 
a  salutary  terror,  although  he  denied  it. 

"Good  heavens!  my  dear  cousin!"  he  would  ex- 
claim, "let  me  alone.  I  know  I  am  mortal  like  every- 
body else.  What  of  that?  But  I  see  your  aim — it  is 
to  convert  me !  Ta — ta ! ' ' 

She  not  only  wished  to  convert  him,  but  to  marry 
him,  and  bury  him  besides. 

She  based  her  hopes  in  this  respect  chiefly  on  her  son 
Sigismund ;  knowing  that  the  General  bitterly  regretted 
having  no  one  to  inherit  his  name.  He  had  but  to 
marry  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  and  adopt  her  son 
to  banish  this  care.  Without  a  single  allusion  to  this 
fact,  the  Countess  failed  not  to  turn  the  thoughts  of  the 
General  toward  it  with  all  the  tact  of  an  accomplished 
intrigante,  with  all  the  ardor  of  a  mother,  and  with  all 
the  piety  of  an  unctuous  devotee. 

Her  sister,  the  Baroness  Tonnelier,  bitterly  confessed 
her  own  disadvantage.  She  was  not  a  widow.  And 
she  had  no  son.  But  she  had  two  daughters,  both  of 
them  graceful,  very  elegant  and  sparkling.  One  was 
Madame  Bacquiere,  the  wife  of  a  broker;  the  other, 
Madame  Van-Cuyp,  wife  of  a  young  Hollander,  doing 
business  at  Paris. 

Both  interpreted  life  and  marriage  gayly ;  both  floated 
from  one  year  into  another  dancing,  riding,  hunting, 
coquetting,  and  singing  recklessly  the  most  risque  songs 

[55] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

of  the  minor  theatres.  Formerly,  Camors,  in  his  pen- 
sive mood,  had  taken  an  aversion  to  these  little  ex- 
amples of  modern  feminine  frivolity.  Since  he  had 
changed  his  views  of  life  he  did  them  more  justice.  He 
said,  calmly: 

"They  are  pretty  little  animals  that  follow  their 
instincts." 

Mesdames  Bacquiere  and  Van-Cuyp,  instigated  by 
their  mother,  applied  themselves  assiduously  to  making 
the  General  feel  all  the  sacred  joys  that  cluster  round 
the  domestic  hearth.  They  enlivened  his  household, 
exercised  his  horses,  killed  his  game,  and  tortured  his 
piano.  They  seemed  to  think  that  the  General,  once 
accustomed  to  their  sweetness  and  animation,  could  not 
do  without  it,  and  that  their  society  would  become  indis- 
pensable to  him.  They  mingled,  too,  with  their  adroit 
manoeuvres,  familiar  and  delicate  attentions,  likely  to 
touch  an  old  man.  They  sat  on  his  knees  like  children, 
played  gently  with  his  moustache,  and  arranged  in  the 
latest  style  the  military  knot  of  his  cravat. 

Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  never  ceased  to  deplore 
confidentially  to  the  General  the  unfortunate  education 
of  her  nieces;  while  the  Baroness,  on  her  side,  lost  no 
opportunity  of  holding  up  in  bold  relief  the  empti- 
ness, impertinence,  and  sulkiness  of  young  Count  Sigis- 
mund. 

In  the  midst  of  these  honorable  conflicts  one  person, 
who  took  no  part  in  them,  attracted  the  greatest  share  of 
Camors' s  interest;  first  for  her  beauty  and  afterward  for 
her  qualities.  This  was  an  orphan  of  excellent  family, 
but  very  poor,  of  whom  Madame  de  la  Roc  he- Jugan 

[56] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

and  Madame  Tonnelier  had  taken  joint  charge.  Made- 
moiselle Charlotte  de  Luc  d'Estrelles  passed  six  months 
of  each  year  with  the  Countess  and  six  with  the  Bar- 
oness. She  was  twenty-five  years  of  age,  tall  and 
blonde,  with  deep-set  eyes  under  the  shadow  of  sweep- 
ing, black  lashes.  Thick  masses  of  hair  framed  her  sad 
but  splendid  brow ;  and  she  was  badly,  or  rather  poor- 
ly dressed,  never  condescending  to  wear  the  cast-off 
clothes  of  her  relatives,  but  preferring  gowns  of  simplest 
material  made  by  her  own  hands.  These  draperies 
gave  her  the  appearance  of  an  antique  statue. 

Her  Tonnelier  cousins  nicknamed  her  "the  goddess." 
They  hated  her;  she  despised  them.  The  name  they 
gave  her,  however,  was  marvellously  suitable. 

When  she  walked,  you  would  have  imagined  she  had 
descended  from  a  pedestal;  the  pose  of  her  head  was 
like  that  of  the  Greek  Venus;  her  delicate,  dilating 
nostrils  seemed  carved  by  a  cunning  chisel  from  trans- 
parent ivory.  She  had  a  startled,  wild  air,  such  as 
one  sees  in  pictures  of  huntress  nymphs.  She  used  a 
naturally  fine  voice  with  great  effect;  and  had  already 
cultivated,  so  far  as  she  could,  a  taste  for  art. 

She  was  naturally  so  taciturn  one  was  compelled  to 
guess  her  thoughts;  and  long  since  Camors  had  re- 
flected as  to  what  was  passing  in  that  self-centred  soul. 
Inspired  by  his  innate  generosity,  as  well  as  his  secret 
admiration,  he  took  pleasure  in  heaping  upon  this  poor 
cousin  the  attentions  he  might  have  paid  a  queen ;  but 
she  always  seemed  as  indifferent  to  them  as  she  was  to 
the  opposite  course  of  her  involuntary  benefactress. 
Her  position  at  Campvallon  was  very  odd.  After 

[57] 


OCTAVE  FEU1LLET 

Camors's  arrival,  she  was  more  taciturn  than  ever;  ab- 
sorbed, estranged,  as  if  meditating  some  deep  design, 
she  would  suddenly  raise  the  long  lashes  of  her  blue 
eyes,  dart  a  rapid  glance  here  and  there,  and  finally 
fix  it  on  Camors,  who  would  feel  himself  tremble 
under  it. 

One  afternoon,  when  he  was  seated  in  the  library, 
he  heard  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door,  and  Mademoiselle 
entered,  looking  very  pale.  Somewhat  astonished,  he 
rose  and  saluted  her. 

"I  wish  to  speak  with  you,  cousin,"  she  said.  The 
accent  was  pure  and  grave,  but  slightly  touched  with 
evident  emotion.  Camors  stared  at  her,  showed  her  to 
a  divan,  and  took  a  chair  facing  her. 

"You  know  very  little  of  me,  cousin,"  she  continued, 
"but  I  am  frank  and  courageous.  I  will  come  at  once 
to  the  object  that  brings  me  here.  Is  it  true  that  you 
are  ruined?" 

"Why  do  you  ask,  Mademoiselle?" 

"You  always  have  been  very  good  to  me — you  only. 
I  am  very  grateful  to  you ;  and  I  also—  She  stopped, 
dropped  her  eyes,  and  a  bright  flush  suffused  her  cheeks. 
Then  she  bent  her  head,  smiling  like  one  who  has  re- 
gained courage  under  difficulty.  "Well,  then,"  she  re- 
sumed, "  I  am  ready  to  devote  my  life  to  you.  You  will 
deem  me  very  romantic,  but  I  have  wrought  out  of  our 
united  poverty  a  very  charming  picture,  I  believe.  I 
am  sure  I  should  make  an  excellent  wife  for  the  husband 
I  loved.  If  you  must  leave  France,  as  they  tell  me 
you  must,  I  will  follow  you — I  will  be  your  brave  and 
faithful  helpmate.  Pardon  me,  one  word  more,  Mon- 

[58] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

sieur  de  Camors.  My  proposition  would  be  immodest 
if  it  concealed  any  afterthought.  It  conceals  none.  I 
am  poor.  I  have  but  fifteen  hundred  francs'  income. 
If  you  are  richer  than  I,  consider  I  have  said  nothing; 
for  nothing  in  the  world  would  then  induce  me  to 
marry  you!" 

She  paused ;  and  with  a  manner  of  mingled  yearning, 
candor,  and  anguish,  fixed  on  him  her  large  eyes  full  of 
fire. 

There  was  a  solemn  pause.  Between  these  strange 
natures,  both  high  and  noble,  a  terrible  destiny  seemed 
pending  at  this  moment,  and  both  felt  it. 

At  length  Camors  responded  in  a  grave,  calm  voice: 
"It  is  impossible,  Mademoiselle,  that  you  can  appre- 
ciate the  trial  to  which  you  expose  me;  but  I  have 
searched  my  heart,  and  I  there  find  nothing  worthy  of 
you.  Do  me  the  justice  to  believe  that  my  decision  is 
based  neither  upon  your  fortune  nor  upon  my  own :  but 
I  am  resolved  never  to  marry."  She  sighed  deeply,  and 
rose.  "Adieu,  cousin,"  she  said. 

"I  beg — I  pray  you  to  remain  one  moment,"  cried 
the  young  man,  reseating  her  with  gentle  force  upon 
the  sofa.  He  walked  half  across  the  room  to  repress 
his  agitation;  then  leaning  on  a  table  near  the  young 
girl,  said: 

"Mademoiselle  Charlotte,  you  are  unhappy;  are  you 
not?" 

"A  little,  perhaps,"  she  answered. 

"I  do  not  mean  at  this  moment,  but  always?" 

"Always!" 

"Aunt  de  la  Roche- Jugan  treats  you  harshly?" 

[59] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Undoubtedly;  she  dreads  that  I  may  entrap  her 
son.  Good  heavens!" 

"The  little  Tonneliers  are  jealous  of  you,  and  Uncle 
Tonnelier  torments  you?" 

"Basely!"  she  said;  and  two  tears  swam  on  her 
eyelashes,  then  glistened  like  diamonds  on  her 
cheek. 

"And  what  do  you  believe  of  the  religion  of  our 
aunt?" 

"What  would  you  have  me  believe  of  religion  that 
bestows  no  virtue — restrains  no  vice?" 

"Then  you  are  a  non-believer?" 

"One  may  believe  in  God  and  the  Gospel  without 
believing  in  the  religion  of  our  aunt." 

"But  she  will  drive  you  into  a  convent.  Why,  then, 
do  you  not  enter  one?" 

"I  love  life,"  the  girl  said. 

He  looked  at  her  silently  a  moment,  then  continued: 
"Yes,  you  love  life — the  sunlight,  the  thoughts,  the 
arts,  the  luxuries — everything  that  is  beautiful,  like 
yourself.  Then,  Mademoiselle  Charlotte,  all  these  are 
in  your  hands;  why  do  you  not  grasp  them?" 

"How?"  she  queried,  surprised  and  somewhat 
startled. 

"If  you  have,  as  I  believe  you  have,  as  much  strength 
of  soul  as  intelligence  and  beauty,  you  can  escape  at 
once  and  forever  the  miserable  servitude  fate  has  im- 
posed upon  you.  Richly  endowed  as  you  are,  you 
might  become  to-morrow  a  great  artiste,  independent, 
feted,  rich,  adored — the  mistress  of  Paris  and  of  the 
world!" 

[60] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"And  yours  also? — No!"  said  this  strange  girl. 

"  Pardon,  Mademoiselle  Charlotte.  I  did  not  suspect 
you  of  any  improper  idea,  when  you  offered  to  share  my 
uncertain  fortunes.  Render  me,  I  pray  you,  the  same 
justice  at  this  moment.  My  moral  principles  are  very 
lax,  it  is  true,  but  I  am  as  proud  as  yourself.  I  never 
shall  reach  my  aim  by  any  subterfuge.  No;  strive  to 
study  art.  I  find  you  beautiful  and  seductive,  but  I  am 
governed  by  sentiments  superior  to  personal  interests. 
I  was  profoundly  touched  by  your  sympathetic  leaning 
toward  me,  and  have  sought  to  testify  my  gratitude  by 
friendly  counsel.  Since,  however,  you  now  suspect  me 
of  striving  to  corrupt  you  for  my  own  ends,  I  am  silent, 
Mademoiselle,  and  permit  you  to  depart." 

"Pray  proceed,  Monsieur  de  Camors." 

"You  will  then  listen  to  me  with  confidence?" 

"I  will  do  so." 

"Well,  then,  Mademoiselle,  you  have  seen  little  of 
the  world,  but  you  have  seen  enough  to  judge  and  to  be 
certain  of  the  value  of  its  esteem.  The  world !  That  is 
your  family  and  mine:  Monsieur  and  Madame  Ton- 
nelier,  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan,  and 
the  little  Sigismund! 

"Well,  then,  Mademoiselle  Charlotte,  the  day  that 
you  become  a  great  artiste,  rich,  triumphant,  idolized, 
wealthy — drinking,  in  deep  draughts,  all  the  joys  of 
life — that  day  Uncle  Tonnelier  will  invoke  outraged 
morals,  our  aunt  will  swoon  with  prudery  in  the  arms 
of  her  old  lovers,  and  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  will 
groan  and  turn  her  yellow  eyes  to  heaven!  But  what 
will  all  that  matter  to  you?" 

[61] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Then,  Monsieur,  you  advise  me  to  lead  an  immoral 
life." 

"By  no  manner  of  means.  I  only  urge  you,  in  defi- 
ance of  public  opinion,  to  become  an  actress,  as  the 
only  sure  road  to  independence,  fame,  and  fortune-. 
And  besides,  there  is  no  law  preventing  an  actress  mar- 
rying and  being  'honorable,'  as  the  world  understands 
the  word.  You  have  heard  of  more  than  one  example 
of  this." 

"Without  mother,  family,  or  protector,  it  would  be 
an  extraordinary  thing  for  me  to  do !  I  can  not  fail  to 
see  that  sooner  or  later  I  should  be  a  lost  girl." 

Camors  remained  silent.  "Why  do  you  not  an- 
swer?" she  asked. 

"Heavens!  Mademoiselle,  because  this  is  so  delicate 
a  subject,  and  our  ideas  are  so  different  about  it.  I 
can  not  change  mine ;  I  must  leave  you  yours.  As  for 
me,  I  am  a  very  pagan." 

"How?    Are  good  and  bad  indifferent  to  you?" 

"No;  but  to  me  it  seems  bad  to  fear  the  opinion  of 
people  one  despises,  to  practise  what  one  does  not  be- 
lieve, and  to  yield  before  prejudices  and  phantoms  of 
which  one  knows  the  unreality.  It  is  bad  to  be  a  slave 
or  a  hypocrite,  as  are  three  fourths  of  the  world.  Evil 
is  ugliness,  ignorance,  folly,  and  baseness.  Good  is 
beauty,  talent,  ability,  and  courage!  That  is  all." 

"And  God  ?"  the  girl  cried.  He  did  not  reply.  She 
looked  fixedly  at  him  a  moment  without  catching  the 
eyes  he  kept  turned  from  her.  Her  head  drooped 
heavily;  then  raising  it  suddenly,  she  said:  "There  are 
sentiments  men  can  not  understand.  In  my  bitter 

[62] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

hours  I  have  often  dreamed  of  this  free  life  you  now 
advise;  but  I  have  always  recoiled  before  one  thought 
—only  one." 

"And  that?" 

"Perhaps  the  sentiment  is  not  peculiar  to  me — per- 
haps it  is  excessive  pride,  but  I  have  a  great  regard  for 
myself — my  person  is  sacred  to  me.  Should  I  come  to 
believe  in  nothing,  like  you — and  I  am  far  from  that 
yet,  thank  God! — I  should  even  then  remain  honest  and 
true — faithful  to  one  love,  simply  from  pride.  I  should 
prefer,"  she  added,  in  a  voice  deep  and  sustained,  but 
somewhat  strained,  "I  should  prefer  to  desecrate  an 
altar  rather  than  myself!" 

Saying  these  words,  she  rose,  made  a  haughty  move- 
ment of  the  head  in  sign  of  an  adieu,  and  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  COUNT  LOSES  A  LADY  AND  FINDS  A  MISSION 

AMORS  sat  for  some  time  plunged  in 
thought. 

He  was  astonished  at  the  depths  he 
had  discovered  in  her  character;  he 
was  displeased  with  himself  without 
well  knowing  why;  and,  above  all,  he 
was  much  struck  by  his  cousin. 

However,  as  he  had  but  a  slight 
opinion  of  the  sincerity  of  women,  he  persuaded  himself 
that  Mademoiselle  de  Luc  d'Estrelles,  when  she  came 
to  offer  him  her  heart  and  hand,  nevertheless  knew  he 
was  not  altogether  a  despicable  match  for  her.  He  said 
to  himself  that  a  few  years  back  he  might  have  been 
duped  by  her  apparent  sincerity,  and  congratulated 
himself  on  not  having  fallen  into  this  attractive  snare- 
on  not  having  listened  to  the  first  promptings  of  credu- 
lity and  sincere  emotion. 

He  might  have  spared  himself  these  compliments. 
Mademoiselle  de  Luc  d'Estrelles,  as  he  was  soon  to  dis- 
cover, had  been  in  that  perfectly  frank,  generous,  and 
disinterested  state  of  mind  in  which  women  sometimes 
are. 

Only,  would  it  happen  to  him  to  find  her  so  in  the 
future?  That  was  doubtful,  thanks  to  M.  de  Camors. 
It  often  happens  that  by  despising  men  too  much,  we 

[64] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

degrade  them;  in  suspecting  women  too  much,  we  lose 
them. 

About  an  hour  passed ;  there  was  another  rap  at  the 
library  door.  Camors  felt  a  slight  palpitation  and  a 
secret  wish  that  it  should  prove  Mademoiselle  Char- 
lotte. 

It  was  the  General  who  entered.  He  advanced  with 
measured  stride,  puffed  like  some  sea-monster,  and 
seized  Camors  by  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  Then  he  said, 
impressively : 

"  Well,  young  gentleman!" 

"Well,  General." 

"What  are  you  doing  in  here?" 

"Oh,  I  am  at  work." 

"At  work?  Um!  Sit  down  there — sit  down,  sit 
down!"  He  threw  himself  on  the  sofa  where  Made- 
moiselle had  been,  which  rather  changed  the  perspec- 
tive for  Camors. 

"Well,  well!"  he  repeated,  after  a  long  pause. 

"But  what  then,  General?" 

"What  then?  The  deuce!  Why,  have  you  not  no- 
ticed that  I  have  been  for  some  days  extraordinarily 
agitated?" 

"No,  General,  I  have  not  noticed  it." 

"You  are  not  very  observing!  I  am  extraordinarily 
agitated — enough  to  fatigue  the  eyes.  So  agitated,  upon 
my  word  of  honor,  that  there  are  moments  when  I  am 
tempted  to  believe  your  aunt  is  right:  that  I  have  dis- 
ease of  the  heart!" 

"Bah,  General!  My  aunt  is  dreaming;  you  have 
the  pulse  of  an  infant." 

5  [65] 


OCTAVE  FEU1LLET 

"You  believe  so,  really?  I  do  not  fear  death;  but  it 
is  always  annoying  to  think  of  it.  But  I  am  too  much 
agitated — it  is  necessary  to  put  a  stop  to  it.  You  un- 
derstand?" 

"Perfectly;  but  how  can  it  concern  me?" 

"  Concern  you  ?  You  are  about  to  hear.  You  are  my 
cousin,  are  you  not?" 

"Truly,  General,  I  have  that  honor." 

"But  very  distant,  eh?  I  have  thirty-six  cousins  as 
near  as  you,  and — the  devil!  To  speak  plainly,  I  owe 
you  nothing." 

"And  I  have  never  demanded  payment  even  of  that, 
General." 

"Ah,  I  know  that!  Well,  you  are  my  cousin,  very  far 
removed!  But  you  are  more  than  that.  Your  father 
saved  my  life  in  the  Atlas.  He  has  related  it  all  to  you 
— No  ?  Well,  that  does  not  astonish  me ;  for  he  was  no 
braggart,  that  father  of  yours;  he  was  a  man!  Had  he 
not  quitted  the  army,  a  brilliant  career  was  before  him. 
People  talk  a  great  deal  of  Pelissier,  of  Canrobert,  of 
MacMahon,  and  of  others.  I  say  nothing  against  them ; 
they  are  good  men  doubtless — at  least  I  hear  so;  but 
your  father  would  have  eclipsed  them  all  had  he  taken 
the  trouble.  But  he  didn't  take  the  trouble! 

"Well,  for  the  story:  We  were  crossing  a  gorge  of  the 
Atlas;  we  were  in  retreat;  I  had  lost  my  command;  I 
was  following  as  a  volunteer.  It  is  useless  to  weary  you 
with  details;  we  were  in  retreat;  a  shower  of  stones 
and  bullets  poured  upon  us,  as  if  from  the  moon.  Our 
column  was  slightly  disordered;  I  was  in  the  rear- 
guard— whack!  my  horse  was  down,  and  I  under  himl 

[66] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

We  were  in  a  narrow  gorge  with  sloping  sides  some  fif- 
teen feet  high;  five  dirty  guerillas  slid  down  the  sides 
and  fell  upon  me  and  on  the  beast — forty  devils !  I  can 
see  them  now!  Just  here  the  gorge  took  a  sudden  turn, 
so  no  one  could  see  my  trouble ;  or  no  one  wished  to  see 
it,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing. 

"I  have  told  you  things  were  in  much  disorder;  and 
I  beg  you  to  remember  that  with  a  dead  horse  and  five 
live  Arabs  on  top  of  me,  I  was  not  very  comfortable.  I 
was  suffocating;  in  fact,  I  was  devilish  far  from  com- 
fortable. 

"Just  then  your  father  ran  to  my  assistance,  like  the 
noble  fellow  he  was !  He  drew  me  from  under  my  horse ; 
he  fell  upon  the  Arabs.  When  I  was  up,  I  aided  him  a 
little — but  that  is  nothing  to  the  point — I  never  shall 
forget  him!" 

There  was  a  pause,  when  the  General  added: 

"Let  us  understand  each  other,  and  speak  plainly. 
Would  it  be  very  repugnant  to  your  feelings  to  have 
seven  hundred  thousand  francs  a  year,  and  to  be  called, 
after  me,  Marquis  de  Campvallon  d'Armignes?  Come, 
speak  up,  and  give  me  an  answer." 

The  young  Count  reddened  slightly. 

"My  name  is  Camors,"  he  said,  gently. 

"What!  You  would  not  wish  me  to  adopt  you ?  You 
refuse  to  become  the  heir  of  my  name  and  of  my  for- 
tune?" 

"Yes,  General." 

"Do  you  not  wish  time  to  reflect  upon  it?" 

"No,  General.  I  am  sincerely  grateful  for  your 
goodness;  your  generous  intentions  toward  me  touch 

[67] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

me  deeply,  but  in  a  question  of  honor  I  never  reflect  or 
hesitate." 

The  General  puffed  fiercely,  like  a  locomotive  blow- 
ing off  steam.  Then  he  rose  and  took  two  or  three  turns 
up  and  down  the  gallery,  shuffling  his  feet,  his  chest 
heaving.  Then  he  returned  and  reseated  himself. 

"What  are  your  plans  for  the  future?"  he  asked, 
abruptly. 

"I  shall  try,  in  the  first  place,  General,  to  repair  my 
fortune,  which  is  much  shattered.  I  am  not  so  great  a 
stranger  to  business  as  people  suppose,  and  my  father's 
connections  and  my  own  will  give  me  a  footing  in  some 
great  financial  or  industrial  enterprise.  Once  there,  I 
shall  succeed  by  force  of  will  and  steady  work.  Be- 
sides, I  shall  fit  myself  for  public  life,  and  aspire,  when 
circumstances  permit  me,  to  become  a  deputy." 

"Well,  well,  a  man  must  do  something.  Idleness  is 
the  parent  of  all  vices.  See ;  like  yourself,  I  am  fond  of 
the  horse —  a  noble  animal.  I  approve  of  racing;  it  im- 
proves the  breed  of  horses,  and  aids  in  mounting  our 
cavalry  efficiently.  But  sport  should  be  an  amusement, 
not  a  profession.  Hem!  so  you  aspire  to  become  a 
deputy?" 

"Assuredly." 

"Then  I  can  help  you  in  that,  at  least.  When  you 
are  ready  I  will  send  in  my  resignation,  and  recommend 
to  my  brave  and  faithful  constituents  that  you  take  my 
place.  Will  that  suit  you  ?" 

"Admirably,  General;  and  I  am  truly  grateful.  But 
why  should  you  resign  ?" 

"Why?  Well,  to  be  useful  to  you  in  the  first  place; 

[68] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

in  the  second,  I  am  sick  of  it.  I  shall  not  be  sorry  to 
give  personally  a  little  lesson  to  the  government,  which 
I  trust  will  profit  by  it.  You  know  me — I  am  no  Ja- 
cobin; at  first  I  thought  that  would  succeed.  But 
when  I  see  what  is  going  on!" 

"What  is  going  on,  General?" 

"When  I  see  a  Tonnelier  a  great  dignitary!  It  makes 
me  long  for  the  pen  of  Tacitus,  on  my  word.  When  I 
was  retired  in  'forty-eight,  under  a  mean  and  cruel  in- 
justice they  did  me,  I  had  not  reached  the  age  of  exemp- 
tion. I  was  still  capable  of  good  and  loyal  service ;  but 
probably  I  could  have  waited  until  an  amendment.  I 
found  it  at  least  in  the  confidence  of  my  brave  and 
faithful  constituents.  But,  my  young  friend,  one  tires 
of  everything.  The  Assemblies  at  the  Luxembourg — I 
mean  the  Palace  of  the  Bourbons — fatigue  me.  In  short, 
whatever  regret  I  may  feel  at  parting  from  my  honor- 
able colleagues,  and  from  my  faithful  constituents,  I 
shall  abdicate  my  functions  whenever  you  are  ready  and 
willing  to  accept  them.  Have  you  not  some  property  in 
this  district?" 

"Yes,  General,  a  little  property  which  belonged  to 
my  mother;  a  small  manor,  with  a  little  land  round  it, 
called  Reuilly." 

"Reuilly!  Not  two  steps  from  Des  Ramcures!  Cer- 
tainly— certainly!  Well,  that  is  one  foot  in  the  stir- 
rup." 

"But  then  there  is  one  difficulty;  I  am  obliged  to 
sell  it." 

"The  devil!    And  why?" 

"It  is  all  that  is  left  to  me,  and  it  only  brings  me 
[69] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

eleven  thousand  francs  a  year;  and  to  embark  in 
business  I  need  capital — a  beginning.  I  prefer  not  to 
borrow." 

The  General  rose,  and  once  more  his  military  tramp 
shook  the  gallery.  Then  he  threw  himself  back  on  the 
sofa. 

"You  must  not  sell  that  property!  I  owe  you  noth- 
ing, 'tis  true,  but  I  have  an  affection  for  you.  You  re- 
fuse to  be  my  adopted  son.  Well,  I  regret  this,  and 
must  have  recourse  to  other  projects  to  aid  you.  I  warn 
you  I  shall  try  other  projects.  You  must  not  sell  your 
lands  if  you  wish  to  become  a  deputy,  for  the  country 
people — especially  those  of  Des  Rameures — will  not 
hear  of  it.  Meantime  you  will  need  funds.  Permit  me 
to  offer  you  three  hundred  thousand  francs.  You  may 
return  them  when  you  can,  without  interest,  and  if  you 
never  return  them  you  will  confer  a  very  great  favor 
upon  me." 

"But  in  truth,  General " 

"Come,  come!  Accept  it  as  from  a  relative — from  a 
friend — from  your  father's  friend — on  any  ground  you 
please,  so  you  accept.  If  not,  you  will  wound  me  seri- 
ously." 

Camors  rose,  took  the  General's  hand,  and  pressing 
it  with  emotion,  said,  briefly— 

"I  accept,  sir.    I  thank  you!" 

The  General  sprang  up  at  these  words  like  a  furious 
lion,  his  moustache  bristling,  his  nostrils  dilating,  his 
chest  heaving.  Staring  at  the  young  Count  with  real 
ferocity,  he  suddenly  drew  him  to  his  breast  and  em- 
braced him  with  great  fervor.  Then  he  strode  to  the 

[70] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

door  with  his  usual  solemnity,  and  quickly  brushing  a 
tear  from  his  cheek,  left  the  room. 

The  General  was  a  good  man ;  but,  like  many  good 
people,  he  had  not  been  happy.  You  might  smile  at  his 
oddities :  you  never  could  reproach  him  with  vices. 

He  was  a  small  man,  but  he  had  a  great  soul.  Timid 
at  heart,  especially  with  women,  he  was  delicate,  pas- 
sionate, and  chaste.  He  had  loved  but  little,  and  never 
had  been  loved  at  all.  He  declared  that  he  had  retired 
from  all  friendship  with  women,  because  of  a  wrong 
that  he  had  suffered.  At  forty  years  of  age  he  had  mar- 
ried the  daughter  of  a  poor  colonel  who  had  been  killed 
by  the  enemy.  Not  long  after,  his  wife  had  deceived 
him  with  one  of  his  aides-de-camp. 

The  treachery  was  revealed  to  him  by  a  rival,  who 
played  on  this  occasion  the  infamous  rdle  of  lago. 
Campvallon  laid  aside  his  starred  epaulettes,  and  in 
two  successive  duels,  still  remembered  in  Africa,  killed 
on  two  successive  days  the  guilty  one  and  his  betrayer. 
His  wife  died  shortly  after,  and  he  was  left  more  lonely 
than  ever.  He  was  not  the  man  to  console  himself  with 
venal  love ;  a  gross  remark  made  him  blush ;  the  corps 
de  ballet  inspired  him  with  terror.  He  did  not  dare  to 
avow  it,  but  the  dream  of  his  old  age,  with  his  fierce 
moustache  and  his  grim  countenance,  was  the  devoted 
love  of  some  young  girl,  at  whose  feet  he  might  pour  out, 
without  shame,  without  distrust  even,  all  the  tenderness 
of  his  simple  and  heroic  heart. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  which  had  been  marked 
for  Camors  by  these  two  interesting  episodes,  Made- 
moiselle de  Luc  d'Estrelles  did  not  come  down  to  din- 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

ner,  but  sent  word  she  had  a  headache.  This  message 
was  received  with  a  general  murmur,  and  with  some 
sharp  remarks  from  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan, 
which  implied  Mademoiselle  was  not  in  a  position 
which  justified  her  in  having  a  headache.  The  dinner, 
however,  was  not  less  gay  than  usual,  thanks  to  Mes- 
dames  Bacquiere  and  Van-Cuyp,  and  to  their  husbands, 
who  had  arrived  from  Paris  to  pass  Sunday  with  them. 

To  celebrate  this  happy  meeting,  they  drank  very 
freely  of  champagne,  talked  slang,  and  imitated  actors, 
causing  much  amusement  to  the  servants.  Returning 
to  the  drawing-room,  these  innocent  young  things 
thought  it  very  funny  to  take  their  husbands'  hats,  put 
their  feet  in  them,  and,  thus  shod,  to- run  a  steeplechase 
across  the  room.  Meantime  Madame  de  la  Roche- 
Jagan  felt  the  General's  pulse  frequently,  and  found  it 
variable. 

Next  morning  at  breakfast  all  the  General's  guests 
assembled,  except  Mademoiselle  d'Estrelles,  whose 
headache  apparently  was  no  better.  They  remarked 
also  the  absence  of  the  General,  who  was  the  embodi- 
ment of  politeness  and  punctuality.  A  sense  of  uneasi- 
ness was  beginning  to  creep  over  all,  when  suddenly  the 
door  opened  and  the  General  appeared  leading  Made- 
moiselle d'Estrelles  by  the  hand. 

The  young  girl's  eyes  were  red ;  her  face  was  very  pale. 
The  General's  face  was  scarlet.  He  advanced  a  few 
steps,  like  an  actor  about  to  address  his  audience ;  cast 
fierce  glances  on  all  sides  of  him,  and  cleared  his  throat 
with  a  sound  that  echoed  like  the  bass  notes  of  a  grand 
piano.  Then  he  spoke  in  a  voice  of  thunder: 

[72] 


Suddenly  the  door  opened,   and  the  General 

appeared,    leading   Mademoiselle 

d'Estnlles  by  the  hand 

[From  an  Original  Drawing  Ity   Rejci, 


OCTAVE   n',1  'ft  LET 


ner,  but  .v-nt  word  :•>.-« 

was  received  with  .;  ;^e 

sharp    remarks   irw- 

which    implied 

\vhkh  justified  !*-r  in  his    ;£*  .« 

however,  was  n-./t  !*•-**  gay  than  usual,  th.  n'  >  f.o  Mes- 

dame<  Ba<.  quiorr  a.r?d  Van  Tuyn,  and  to  rhr---  husbands, 

\vh:>  had  urri^wi  from  Pans  to  pass  Sunday  v/ith  them. 


uhe.  This  message 
air.  and  v^ith  some 
c  In  Ro--  he-Jugan, 
.  not  .*  position 
dache.  The  dinner, 


To  celebrate  this  hiij>[>> 


very 


freely  of  champagne,  talked  slang,  and  imitated  actors, 
causing  much  amusement  tu  the  servants.  Returning 
to  she  drawing-room,  tht:se  innocent  vounq  things 
fei3«^r^V  V>«6  ,Vsw3fi(o  too\s  yUb^idfcfeh^is,  put 
their  fwt  jn9U*iotmV>t>M  ^n'Aioa-V  .Uataatno^-teeplechase 
the  rof>ri>nDA  ^  ^  £3\VwJ&a^e  dc  !:>  Roche- 
rVlt  th«  .•nuently,iand  found  it 

nO   no  m«rtHJ 


N-xr  ruo?  ^Ja^t  j)i  !lie  Gt-nonil's  guests 

a^si.-mMrd.    oxifj?-  rTrf)?^He    H'j-'vrr-'k^,    whose 

h«\i<1;u  f  ie  iipjvBfrr.ti1;,  &*  n>-.  Ui?let,  Tliey  rtMiiarked 
also  the  absence  ">f  th<-  ho  was  the  embodi- 

ment of  politeness  n.nd  par.*  tual^y.  A  sense  of  uneasi- 
ness was  beginning  to  crer.p  »urr  all,  \\hcn  suddenly  the 
doer  opened  and  the  General  upr>earecl  leading  Made- 
moiselle d'Estrelles  by  tht  hand 

The  young  girl's  eyes.  ver«  '  <!  ;  her  face  was  very  pale. 
The  General's  face  wo*  Sf-iriet.  He  advanced  a  few 
•vt'-p.1:.  like  an  actor  about  to  add  res;--  his  audience;  cast 

rce  glances  on  all  sides  of  him,  and  cleared  his  throat 
i  a  «mind  that  echoed  like  the  bass  notes  of  a  grand 
r-iano.    Then  he  Fooke  in  a  voice  of  thunder: 

[72] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"My  dear  guests  and  friends,  permit  me  to  present 
to  you  the  Marquise  de  Campvallon  d'Armignes!" 

An  iceberg  at  the  North  Pole  is  not  colder  than  was 
the  General's  salon  at  this  announcement. 

He  held  the  young  lady  by  the  hand,  and  retaining  his 
position  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  launched  out  fierce 
glances.  Then  his  eyes  began  to  wander  and  roll  con- 
vulsively in  their  sockets,  as  if  he  was  himself  astonished 
at  the  effect  his  announcement  had  produced. 

Camors  was  the  first  to  come  to  the  rescue,  and  tak- 
ing his  hand,  said:  "Accept,  my  dear  General,  my  con- 
gratulations. I  am  extremely  happy,  and  rejoice  at 
your  good  fortune ;  the  more  so,  as  I  feel  the  lady  is  so 
well  worthy  of  you."  Then,  bowing  to  Mademoiselle 
d'Estrelles  with  a  grave  grace,  he  pressed  her  hand,  and 
turning  away,  was  struck  dumb  at  seeing  Madame  de  la 
Roche- Jugan  in  the  arms  of  the  General.  She  passed 
from  his  into  those  of  Mademoiselle  d'Estrelles,  who 
feared  at  first,  from  the  violence  of  the  caresses,  that 
there  was  a  secret  design  to  strangle  her. 

"General,"  said  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  in  a 
plaintive  voice,  "you  remember  I  always  recommended 
her  to  you.  I  always  spoke  well  of  her.  She  is  my 
daughter — my  second  child.  Sigismund,  embrace  your 
sister!  You  permit  it,  General?  Ah,  we  never  know 
how  much  we  love  these  children  until  we  lose  them! 
I  always  spoke  well  of  her;  did — I  not — Ge — Gen- 
eral?" And  here  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  burst 
into  tears. 

The  General,  who  began  to  entertain  a  high  opinion 
of  the  Countess's  heart,  declared  that  Mademoiselle 

[73] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

d'Estrelles  would  find  in  him  a  friend  and  father.  After 
which  flattering  assurance,  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan 
seated  herself  in  a  solitary  corner,  behind  a  curtain, 
whence  they  heard  sobs  and  moans  issue  for  a  whole 
hour.  She  could  not  even  breakfast;  happiness  had 
taken  away  her  appetite. 

The  ice  once  broken,  all  tried  to  make  themselves 
agreeable.  The  Tonneliers  did  not  behave,  however, 
with  the  same  warmth  as  the  tender  Countess,  and  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  Mesdames  Bacquiere  and  Van- 
Cuyp  could  not  picture  to  themselves,  without  envy,  the 
shower  of  gold  and  -diamonds  about  to  fall  into  the  lap 
of  their  cousin.  Messrs.  Bacquiere  and  Van-Cuyp  were 
naturally  the  first  sufferers,  and  their  charming  wives 
made  them  understand,  at  intervals  during  the  day,  that 
they  thoroughly  despised  them.  It  was  a  bitter  Sunday 
for  those  poor  fellows.  The  Tonnelier  family  also  felt 
that  little  more  was  to  be  done  there,  and  left  the  next 
morning  with  a  very  cold  adieu. 

The  conduct  of  the  Countess  was  more  noble.  She 
declared  she  would  wait  upon  her  dearly  beloved  Char- 
lotte from  the  altar  to  the  very  threshold  of  the  nuptial 
chamber;  that  she  would  arrange  her  trousseau,  and 
that  the  marriage  should  take  place  from  her  house. 

"Deuce  take  me,  my  dear  Countess!"  cried  the  Gen- 
eral, "I  must  declare  one  thing — you  astonish  me.  I 
was  unjust,  cruelly  unjust,  toward  you.  I  reproach 
myself,  on  my  faith!  I  believed  you  worldly,  interested, 
not  open-hearted.  But  you  are  none  of  these;  you  are 
an  excellent  woman — a  heart  of  gold — a  noble  soul! 
My  dear  friend,  you  have  found  the  best  way  to  convert 

[74] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

me.  I  have  always  believed  the  religion  of  honor  was 
sufficient  for  a  man — eh,  Camors  ?  But  I  am  not  an  un- 
believer, my  dear  Countess,  and,  on  my  sacred  word, 
when  I  see  a  perfect  creature  like  you,  I  desire  to  be- 
lieve everything  she  believes,  if  only  to  be  pleasant  to 
her!" 

When  Camors,  who  was  not  quite  so  innocent,  asked 
himself  what  was  the  secret  of  his  aunt's  politic  conduct, 
but  little  effort  was  necessary  to  understand  it. 

Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan,  who  had  finally  con- 
vinced herself  that  the  General  had  an  aneurism,  flat- 
tered herself  that  the  cares  of  matrimony  would  hasten 
the  doom  of  her  old  friend.  In  any  event,  he  was  past 
seventy  years  of  age.  But  Charlotte  was  young,  and 
so  also  was  Sigismund.  Sigismund  could  become  ten- 
der; if  necessary,  could  quietly  court  the  young  Mar- 
quise until  the  day  when  he  could  marry  her,  with  all 
her  appurtenances,  over  the  mausoleum  of  the  General. 
It  was  for  this  that  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan,  crushed 
for  a  moment  under  the  unexpected  blow  that  ruined 
her  hopes,  had  modified  her  tactics  and  drawn  her  bat- 
teries, so  to  speak,  under  cover  of  the  enemy.  This  was 
what  she  was  contriving  while  she  was  weeping  behind 
the  curtain. 

Camors's  personal  feelings  at  the  announcement  of 
this  marriage  were  not  of  the  most  agreeable  descrip- 
tion. First,  he  was  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  he  had 
unjustly  judged  Mademoiselle  d'Estrelles,  and  that  at 
the  moment  of  his  accusing  her  of  speculating  on  his 
small  fortune,  she  was  offering  to  sacrifice  for  him  the 
annual  seven  hundred  thousand  francs  of  the  General. 

[75] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

He  felt  his  vanity  injured,  that  he  had  not  had  the  test 
part  of  this  affair.  Besides,  he  felt  obliged  to  stifle  from 
this  moment  the  secret  passion  with  which  the  beautiful 
and  singular  girl  had  inspired  him.  Wife  or  widow  of 
the  General,  it  was  clear  that  Mademoiselle  d'Estrclles 
had  forever  escaped  him.  To  seduce  the  wife  of  this 
good  old  man  from  whom  he  accepted  such  favors,  or 
even  to  marry  her,  widowed  and  rich,  after  refusing  her 
when  poor,  were  equal  unworthiness  and  baseness  that 
honor  forbade  in  the  same  degree  and  with  the  same 
rigor  as  if  this  honor,  which  he  made  the  only  law  of  his 
life,  were  not  a  mockery  and  an  empty  word. 

Camors,  however,  did  not  fail  to  comprehend  the 
position  in  this  light,  and  he  resigned  himself  to  it. 

During  the  four  or  five  days  he  remained  at  Camp- 
vallon  his  conduct  was  perfect.  The  delicate  and  re- 
served attentions  with  which  he  surrounded  Mademoi- 
selle d'Estrelles  were  tinged  with  a  melancholy  that 
showed  her  at  the  same  time  his  gratitude,  his  respect, 
and  his  regrets. 

M.  de  Campvallon  had  not  less  reason  to  congratulate 
himself  on  the  conduct  of  the  young  Count.  He  entered 
into  the  folly  of  his  host  with  affectionate  grace!  He 
spoke  to  him  little  of  the  beauty  of  his  fiancee:  much  of 
her  high  moral  qualities;  and  let  him  see  his  most  flat- 
tering confidence  in  the  future  of  this  union. 

On  the  eve  of  his  departure  Camors  was  summoned 
into  the  General's  study.  Handing  his  young  relative  a 
check  for  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  the  General 
said: 

"My  dear  young  friend,  I  ought  to  tell  you,  for  the 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

peace  of  your  conscience,  that  I  have  informed  Made- 
moiselle d'Estrelles  of  this  little  service  I  render  you. 
She  has  a  great  deal  of  love  and  affection  for  you,  my 
dear  young  friend ;  be  sure  of  that. 

"She  therefore  received  my  communication  with 
sincere  pleasure.  I  also  informed  her  that  I  did  not  in- 
tend taking  any  receipt  for  this  sum,  and  that  no  recla- 
mation of  it  should  be  made  at  any  time,  on  any 
account. 

"Now,  my  dear  Camors,  do  me  one  favor.  To  tell 
you  my  inmost  thought,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  see 
you  carry  into  execution  your  project  of  laudable  ambi- 
tion. My  own  new  position,  my  age,  my  tastes,  and 
those  I  perceive  in  the  Marquise,  claim  all  my  leisure- 
all  my  liberty  of  action.  Consequently,  I  desire  as  soon 
as  possible  to  present  you  to  my  generous  and  faithful 
constituents,  as  well  for  the  Corps  L£gislatif  as  for  the 
General  Council.  You  had  better  make  your  prelim- 
inary arrangements  as  soon  as  possible.  Why  should 
you  defer  it  ?  You  are  very  well  cultivated  —  very 
capable.  Well,  let  us  go  ahead — let  us  begin  at  once. 
What  do  you  say?" 

"I  should  prefer,  General,  to  be  more  mature;  but 
it  would  be  both  folly  and  ingratitude  in  me  not  to 
accede  to  your  kind  wish.  What  shall  I  do  first  ?" 

"Well,  my  young  friend,  instead  of  leaving  to-mor- 
row for  Paris,  you  must  go  to  your  estate  at  Reuilly :  go 
there  and  conquer  Des  Rameures." 

"And  who  are  the  Des  Rameures,  General?" 

"You  do  not  know  the  Des  Rameures?  The  deuce! 
no;  you  can  not  know  them!  That  is  unfortunate,  too, 

[77] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Des  Rameures  is  a  clever  fellow,  a  very  clever  fellow, 
and  all-powerful  in  his  neighborhood.  He  is  an  original, 
as  you  will  see;  and  with  him  lives  his  niece,  a  charming 
woman.  I  tell  you,  my  boy,  you  must  please  them,  for 
Des  Rameures  is  the  master  of  the  county.  He  pro- 
tects me,  or  else,  upon  my  honor,  I  should  be  stopped 
on  the  road!" 

"But,  General,  what  shall  I  do  to  please  this  Des 
Rameures?" 

"You  will  see  him.  He  is,  as  I  tell  you,  a  great  oddity. 
He  has  not  been  in  Paris  since  1825 ;  he  has  a  horror  of 
Paris  and  Parisians.  Very  well,  it  only  needs  a  little  tact 
to  flatter  his  views  on  that  point.  We  always  need  a 
little  tact  in  this  world,  young  man." 

"But  his  niece,  General?" 

"Ah,  the  deuce!  You  must  please  the  niece  also.  He 
adores  her,  and  she  manages  him  completely,  although 
he  grumbles  a  little  sometimes." 

"And  what  sort  of  woman  is  she?" 

"Oh,  a  respectable  woman — a  perfectly  respectable 
woman.  A  widow ;  somewhat  a  devotee,  but  very  well 
informed.  A  woman  of  great  merit." 

"But  what  course  must  I  take  to  please  this 
lady?" 

"What  course?  By  my  faith,  young  man,  you  ask  a 
great  many  questions.  I  never  yet  learned  to  please  a 
woman.  I  am  green  as  a  goose  with  them  always.  It 
is  a  thing  I  can  not  understand;  but  as  for  you,  my 
young  comrade,  you  have  little  need  to  be  instructed  in 
that  matter.  You  can't  fail  to  please  her;  you  have 
only  to  make  yourself  agreeable.  But  you  will  know 

[78] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

how  to  do  it — you  will  conduct  yourself  like  an  angel,  T 
am  sure." 

"Captivate  Des  Rameures  and  his  niece — this  is 
your  advice!" 

Early  next  morning  Camors  left  the  Chateau  de 
Campvallon,  armed  with  these  imperfect  instructions; 
and,  further,  with  a  letter  from  the  General  to  Des 
Rameures. 

He  went  in  a  hired  carriage  to  his  own  domain  of 
Reuilly,  which  lay  ten  leagues  off.  While  making  this 
transit  he  reflected  that  the  path  of  ambition  was  not 
one  of  roses;  and  that  it  was  hard  for  him,  at  the  outset 
of  his  enterprise,  to  be  compelled  to  encounter  two 
faces  likely  to  be  as  disquieting  as  those  of  Des  Ram- 
cures  and  his  niece. 


179] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   OLD   DOMAIN   OF   REUILLY 


domain  of  Reuilly  consisted  of  two 
farms  and  of  a  house  of  some  preten- 
sion, inhabited  formerly  by  the  ma- 
ternal family  of  M.  de  Camors.  He 
had  never  before  seen  this  property 
when  he  reached  it  on  the  evening  of 
a  beautiful  summer  day.  A  long  and 
gloomy  avenue  of  elms,  interlacing 
their  thick  branches,  led  to  the  dwelling-house,  which 
was  quite  unequal  to  the  imposing  approach  to  it;  for 
it  was  but  an  inferior  construction  of  the  past  century, 
ornamented  simply  by  a  gable  and  a  bull's-eye,  but 
flanked  by  a  lordly  dovecote. 

It  derived  a  certain  air  of  dignity  from  two  small 
terraces,  one  above  the  other,  in  front  of  it,  while  the 
triple  flight  of  steps  was  supported  by  balusters  of 
granite.  Two  animals,  which  had  once,  perhaps,  re- 
sembled lions,  were  placed  one  upon  each  side  of  the 
balustrade  at  the  platform  of  the  highest  terrace;  and 
they  had  been  staring  there  for  more  than  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years.  Behind  the  house  stretched  the  garden  ; 
and  in  its  midst,  mounted  on  a  stone  arch,  stood  a  dis- 
mal sun-dial  with  hearts  and  spades  painted  between 
its  figures;  while  the  trees  around  it  were  trimmed  into 

[80] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  shapes  of  confessionals  and  chess-pawns.  To  the 
right,  a  labyrinth  of  young  trees,  similarly  clipped  in 
the  fashion  of  the  time,  led  by  a  thousand  devious 
turns  to  a  mysterious  valley,  where  one  heard  continu- 
ally a  low,  sad  murmur.  This  proceeded  from  a  nymph 
in  terra-cotta,  from  whose  urn  dripped,  day  and  night, 
a  thin  rill  of  water  into  a  small  fishpond,  bordered  by 
grand  old  poplars,  whose  shadows  threw  upon  its  sur- 
face, even  at  mid-day,  the  blackness  of  Acheron. 

Camors's  first  reflection  at  viewing  this  prospect  was 
an  exceedingly  painful  one;  and  the  second  was  even 
more  so. 

At  another  time  he  would  doubtless  have  taken  an 
interest  in  searching  through  these  souvenirs  of  the  past 
for  traces  of  an  infant  nurtured  there,  who  had  a 
mother,  and  who  had  perhaps  loved  these  old  relics. 
But  his  system  did  not  admit  of  sentiment,  so  he  crushed 
the  ideas  that  crowded  to  his  mind,  and,  after  a  rapid 
glance  around  him,  called  for  his  dinner. 

The  old  steward  and  his  wife — who  for  thirty  years 
had  been  the  sole  inhabitants  of  Reuilly — had  been  in- 
formed of  his  coming.  They  had  spent  the  day  in 
cleaning  and  airing  the  house;  an  operation  which 
added  to  the  discomfort  they  sought  to  remove,  and 
irritated  the  old  residents  of  the  walls,  while  it  disturbed 
the  sleep  of  hoary  spiders  in  their  dusty  webs.  A  mixed 
odor  of  the  cellar,  of  the  sepulchre,  and  of  an  old  coach, 
struck  Camors  when  he  penetrated  into  the  principal 
room,  where  his  dinner  was  to  be  served. 

Taking  up  one  or  two  flickering  candles,  the  like  of 
which  he  had  never  seen  before,  Camors  proceeded  to 
6  [81] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

inspect  the  quaint  portraits  of  his  ancestors,  who  seemed 
to  stare  at  him  in  great  surprise  from  their  cracked  can- 
vases. They  were  a  dilapidated  set  of  old  nobles,  one 
having  lost  a  nose,  another  an  arm,  others  again  sec- 
tions of  their  faces.  One  of  them — a  chevalier  of  St. 
Louis — had  received  a  bayonet  thrust  through  the  centre 
in  the  riotous  times  of  the  Revolution;  but  he  still 
smiled  at  Camors,  and  sniffed  at  a  flower,  despite  the 
daylight  shining  through  him. 

Camors  finished  his  inspection,  thinking  to  himself 
they  were  a  highly  respectable  set  of  ancestors,  but 
not  worth  fifteen  francs  apiece.  The  housekeeper  had 
passed  half  the  previous  night  in  slaughtering  various 
dwellers  in  the  poultry-yard ;  and  the  results  of  the  sac- 
rifice now  successively  appeared,  swimming  in  butter. 
Happily,  however,  the  fatherly  kindness  of  the  General 
had  despatched  a  hamper  of  provisions  from  Camp- 
vallon,  and  a  few  slices  of  pdtt,  accompanied  by  sundry 
glasses  of  Chateau-Yquem  helped  the  Count  to  combat 
the  dreary  sadness  with  which  his  change  of  residence, 
solitude,  the  night,  and  the  smoke  of  his  candles,  all 
conspired  to  oppress  him. 

Regaining  his  usual  good  spirits,  which  had  deserted 
him  for  a  moment,  he  tried  to  draw  out  the  old  steward, 
who  was  waiting  on  him.  He  strove  to  glean  from  him 
some  information  of  the  Des  Rameures;  but  the  old 
servant,  like  every  Norman  peasant,  held  it  as  a  tenet 
of  faith  that  he  who  gave  a  plain  answer  to  any  question 
was  a  dishonored  man.  With  all  possible  respect  he  let 
Camors  understand  plainly  that  he  was  not  to  he  de- 
ceived by  his  affected  ignorance  into  any  belief  that 

[82] 


M.  le  Comte  did  not  know  a  great  deal  better  than  he  who 
and  what  M.  des  Rameures  was — where  he  lived,  and 
what  he  did ;  that  M.  le  Comte  was  his  master,  and  as 
such  was  entitled  to  his  respect,  but  that  he  was  never- 
theless a  Parisian,  and — as  M.  des  Rameures  said — 
all  Parisians  were  jesters. 

Camors,  who  had  taken  an  oath  never  to  get  angry, 
kept  it  now;  drew  from  the  General's  old  cognac  a 
fresh  supply  of  patience,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  left  the 
room. 

For  a  few  moments  he  leaned  over  the  balustrade  of 
the  terrace  and  looked  around.  The  night,  clear  and 
beautiful,  enveloped  in  its  shadowy  veil  the  wide- 
stretching  fields,  and  a  solemn  stillness,  strange  to 
Parisian  ears,  reigned  around  him,  broken  only  at 
intervals  by  the  distant  bay  of  a  hound,  rising  suddenly, 
and  dying  into  peace  again.  His  eyes  becoming  accus- 
tomed to  the  darkness,  Camors  descended  the  terrace 
stairs  and  passed  into  the  old  avenue,  which  was  darker 
and  more  solemn  than  a  cathedral-aisle  at  midnight, 
and  thence  into  an  open  road  into  which  it  led  by 
chance. 

Strictly  speaking,  Camors  had  never,  until  now,  been 
out  of  Paris;  for  wherever  he  had  previously  gone,  he 
had  carried  its  bustle,  worldly  and  artificial  life,  play, 
and  the  races  with  him;  and  the  watering-places  and 
the  seaside  had  never  shown  him  true  country,  or  pro- 
vincial life.  It  gave  him  a  sensation  for  the  first  time ; 
—but  the  sensation  was  an  odious  one. 

As  he  advanced  up  this  silent  road,  without  houses 
or  lights,  it  seemed  to  him  he  was  wandering  amid  the 

[83] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

desolation  of  some  lunar  region.  This  part  of  Nor- 
mandy recalled  to  him  the  least  cultivated  parts  of 
Brittany.  It  was  rustic  and  savage,  with  its  dense 
shrubbery,  tufted  grass,  dark  valleys,  and  rough 
roads. 

Some  dreamers  love  this  sweet  but  severe  nature, 
even  at  night;  they  love  the  very  things  that  grated 
most  upon  the  pampered  senses  of  Camors,  who  strode 
on  in  deep  disgust,  flattering  himself,  however,  that  he 
should  soon  reach  the  Boulevard  de  Madeleine.  But  he 
found,  instead,  peasants'  huts  scattered  along  the  side 
of  the  road,  their  low,  mossy  roofs  seeming  to  spring 
from  the  rich  soil  like  an  enormous  fungus  growth. 
Two  or  three  of  the  dwellers  in  these  huts  were  taking 
the  fresh  evening  air  on  their  thresholds,  and  Camors 
could  distinguish  through  the  gloom  their  heavy  figures 
and  limbs,  roughened  by  coarse  toil  in  the  fields,  as 
they  stood  mute,  motionless,  and  ruminating  in  the 
darkness  like  tired  beasts. 

Camors,  like  all  men  possessed  by  a  dominant  idea, 
had,  ever  since  he  adopted  the  religion  of  his  father  as 
his  rule  of  life,  taken  the  pains  to  analyze  every  impres- 
sion and  every  thought.  He  now  said  to  himself,  that 
between  these  countrymen  and  a  refined  man  like  him- 
self there  was  doubtless  a  greater  difference  than  be- 
tween them  and  their  beasts  of  burden ;  and  this  reflec- 
tion was  as  balm  to  the  scornful  aristocracy  that  was 
the  cornerstone  of  his  theory.  Wandering  on  to  an 
eminence,  his  discouraged  eye  swept  but  a  fresh  horizon 
of  apple-trees  and  heads  of  barley,  and  he  was  about  to 
turn  back  when  a  strange  sound  suddenly  arrested  his 

[84] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

steps.  It  was  a  concert  of  voice  and  instruments, 
which  in  this  lost  solitude  seemed  to  him  like  a  dream, 
or  a  miracle.  The  music  was  good — even  excellent. 
He  recognized  a  prelude  of  Bach,  arranged  by  Gounod. 
Robinson  Crusoe,  on  discovering  the  footprint  in  the 
sand,  was  not  more  astonished  than  Camors  at  finding 
in  this  desert  so  lively  a  symptom  of  civilization. 

Filled  with  curiosity,  and  led  by  the  melody  he  heard, 
he  descended  cautiously  the  little  hill,  like  a  king's  son 
in  search  of  the  enchanted  princess.  The  palace  he 
found  in  the  middle  of  the  path,  in  the  shape  of  the 
high  back  wall  of  a  dwelling,  fronting  on  another  road. 
One  of  the  upper  windows  on  this  side,  however,  was 
open;  a  bright  light  streamed  from  it,  and  thence  he 
doubted  not  the  sweet  sounds  came. 

To  an  accompaniment  of  the  piano  and  stringed 
instruments  rose  a  fresh,  flexible  woman's  voice,  chant- 
ing the  mystic  words  of  the  master  with  such  expression 
and  power  as  would  have  given  even  him  delight. 
Camors,  himself  a  musician,  was  capable  of  appreciat- 
ing the  masterly  execution  of  the  piece;  and  was  so 
much  struck  by  it  that  he  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to 
see  the  performers,  especially  the  singer.  With  this 
impulse  he  climbed  the  little  hedge  bordering  the  road, 
placed  himself  on  the  top,  and  found  himself  several 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  lighted  window.  He  did  not 
hesitate  to  use  his  skill  as  a  gymnast  to  raise  himself  to 
one  of  the  branches  of  an  old  oak  stretching  across  the 
lawn;  but  during  the  ascent  he  could  not  disguise  from 
himself  that  his  was  scarcely  a  dignified  position  for 
the  future  deputy  of  the  district.  He  almost  laughed 

[85] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

aloud  at  the  idea  of  being  surprised  in  this  position  by 
the  terrible  Des  Rameures,  or  his  niece. 

He  established  himself  on  a  large,  leafy  branch, 
directly  in  front  of  the  interesting  window;  and  not- 
withstanding that  he  was  at  a  respectful  distance,  his 
glance  could  readily  penetrate  into  the  chamber  where 
the  concert  was  taking  place.  A  dozen  persons,  as  he 
judged,  were  there  assembled;  several  women,  of  dif- 
ferent ages,  were  seated  at  a  table  working;  a  young 
man  appeared  to  be  drawing;  while  other  persons 
lounged  on  comfortable  seats  around  the  room.  Around 
the  piano  was  a  group  which  chiefly  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  young  Count.  At  the  instrument  was  seated 
a  grave  young  girl  of  about  twelve  years;  immediately 
behind  her  stood  an  old  man,  remarkable  for  his  great 
height,  his  head  bald,  with  a  crown  of  white  hair,  and 
his  bushy  black  eyebrows.  He  played  the  violin  with 
priestly  dignity.  Seated  near  him  was  a  man  of  about 
fifty,  in  the  dress  of  an  ecclesiastic,  and  wearing  a  huge 
pair  of  silver-rimmed  spectacles,  who  played  the  violin- 
cello  with  great  apparent  gusto. 

Between  them  stood  the  singer.  She  was  a  pale 
brunette,  slight  and  graceful,  and  apparently  not  more 
than  twenty-five  years  of  age.  The  somewhat  severe 
oval  of  her  face  was  relieved  by  a  pair  of  bright  black 
eyes  that  seemed  to  grow  larger  as  she  sang.  One  hand 
rested  gently  on  the  shoulder  of  the  girl  at  the  piano, 
and  with  this  she  seemed  to  keep  time,  pressing  gently 
on  the  shoulder  of  the  performer  to  stimulate  her  zeal. 
And  that  hand  was  delicious ! 

A  hymn  by  Palestrina  had  succeeded  the  Bach  pre- 

[86] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

lude.  It  was  a  quartette,  to  which  two  new  voices  lent 
their  aid.  The  old  priest  laid  aside  his  violoncello, 
stood  up,  took  off  his  spectacles,  and  his  deep  bass 
completed  the  full  measure  of  the  melody. 

After  the  quartette  followed  a  few  moments  of  gen- 
eral conversation,  during  which — after  embracing  the 
child  pianist,  who  immediately  left  the  room — the  song- 
stress walked  to  the  window.  She  leaned  out  as  if  to 
breathe  the  fresh  air,  and  her  profile  was  sharply  re- 
lieved against  the  bright  light  behind  her,  in  which  the 
others  formed  a  group  around  the  priest,  who  once 
more  donned  his  spectacles,  and  drew  from  his  pocket 
a  paper  that  appeared  to  be  a  manuscript. 

The  lady  leaned  from  the  window,  gently  fanning 
herself,  as  she  looked  now  at  the  sky,  now  at  the  dark 
landscape.  Camors  imagined  he  could  distinguish  her 
gentle  breathing  above  the  sound  of  the  fan ;  and  lean- 
ing eagerly  forward  for  a  better  view,  he  caused  the 
leaves  to  rustle  slightly.  She  started  at  the  sound,  then 
remained  immovable,  and  the  fixed  position  of  her 
head  showed  that  her  gaze  was  fastened  upon  the  oak 
in  which  he  was  concealed. 

He  felt  the  awkwardness  of  his  position,  but  could 
not  judge  whether  or  not  he  was  visible  to  her;  but, 
under  the  danger  of  her  fixed  regard,  he  passed  the 
most  painful  moments  of  his  life. 

She  turned  into  the  room  and  said,  in  a  calm  voice, 
a  few  words  which  brought  three  or  four  of  her  friends 
to  the  window;  and  among  them  Camors  recognized 
the  old  man  with  the  violin. 

The  moment  was  a  trying  one.  He  could  do  noth- 

[87] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

ing  but  lie  still  in  his  leafy  retreat — silent  and  immov- 
able as  a  statue.  The  conduct  of  those  at  the  window 
went  far  to  reassure  him,  for  their  eyes  wandered  over 
the  gloom  with  evident  uncertainty,  convincing  him 
that  his  presence  was  only  suspected,  not  discovered. 
But  they  exchanged  animated  observations,  to  which 
the  hidden  Count  lent  an  attentive  ear.  Suddenly  a 
strong  voice — which  he  recognized  as  belonging  to  him 
of  the  violin — rose  over  them  all  in  the  pleasing  order : 
" Loose  the  dog!" 

This  was  sufficient  for  Camors.  He  was  not  a  cow- 
ard; he  would  not  have  budged  an  inch  before  an 
enraged  tiger;  but  he  would  have  travelled  a  hundred 
miles  on  foot  to  avoid  the  shadow  of  ridicule.  Profiting 
by  the  warning  and  a  moment  when  he  seemed  unob- 
served, he  slid  from  the  tree,  jumped  into  the  next  field, 
and  entered  the  wood  at  a  point  somewhat  farther  down 
than  the  spot  where  he  had  scaled  the  hedge.  This 
done,  he  resumed  his  walk  with  the  assured  tread  of  a 
man  who  had  a  right  to  be  there.  He  had  gone  but  a 
few  steps,  when  he  heard  behind  him  the  wild  barking 
of  the  dog,  which  proved  his  retreat  had  been  oppor- 
tune. 

Some  of  the  peasants  he  had  noticed  as  he  passed 
before,  were  still  standing  at  their  doors.  Stopping 
before  one  of  them  he  asked : 

"My  friend,  to  whom  does  that  large  house  below 
there,  facing  the  other  road,  belong?  and  whence  comes 
that  music?" 

"You  probably  know  that  as  well  as  I,"  replied  the 
man,  stolidly. 

[88] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"Had  I  known,  I  should  hardly  have  asked  you," 
said  Camors. 

The  peasant  did  not  deign  further  reply.  His  wife 
stood  near  him;  and  Camors  had  remarked  that  in  all 
classes  of  society  women  have  more  wit  and  good- 
humor  than  their  husbands.  Therefore  he  turned  to 
her  and  said: 

"You  see,  my  good  woman,  I  am  a  stranger  here. 
To  whom  does  that  house  belong?  Probably  to  Mon- 
sieur des  Rameures?" 

"No,  no,"  replied  the  woman,  "Monsieur  des  Ra- 
meures lives  much  farther  on." 

"Ah!    Then  who  lives  here?" 

"Why,  Monsieur  de  Tecle,  of  course!" 

"Ah,  Monsieur  de  Tecle!  But  tell  me,  he  does  not 
live  alone  ?  There  is  a  lady  who  sings — his  wife  ? — his 
sister?  Who  is  she?" 

"Ah,  that  is  his  daughter-in-law,  Madame  de  Tecle 
— Madame  Elise,  who— 

"Ah!  thank  you,  thank  you,  my  good  woman!  You 
have  children?  Buy  them  sabots  with  this,"  and  drop- 
ping a  gold  piece  in  the  lap  of  the  obliging  peasant, 
Camors  walked  rapidly  away.  Returning  home  the 
load  seemed  less  gloomy  and  far  shorter  than  when  he 
came.  As  he  strode  on,  humming  the  Bach  prelude, 
the  moon  rose,  the  country  looked  more  beautiful,  and, 
in  short,  when  he  perceived,  at  the  end  of  its  gloomy 
avenue,  his  chateau  bathed  in  the  white  light,  he  found 
the  spectacle  rather  enjoyable  than  otherwise.  And 
when  he  had  once  more  ensconced  himself  in  the  ma- 
ternal domicile,  and  inhaled  the  odor  of  damp  paper  and 

[89] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

mouldy  trees  that  constituted  its  atmosphere,  he  found 
great  consolation  in  the  reflection  that  there  existed  not 
very  far  away  from  him  a  young  woman  who  pos- 
sessed a  charming  face,  a  delicious  voice,  and  a  pretty 
name. 

Next  morning,  after  plunging  into  a  cold  bath,  to 
the  profound  astonishment  of  the  old  steward  and  his 
wife,  the  Comte  de  Camors  went  to  inspect  his  farms. 
He  found  the  buildings  very  similar  in  construction  to 
the  dams  of  beavers,  though  far  less  comfortable;  but 
he  was  amazed  to  hear  his  farmers  arguing,  in  their 
patois,  on  the  various  modes  of  culture  and  crops,  like 
men  who  were  no  strangers  to  all  modern  improvements 
in  agriculture.  The  name  of  Des  Rameures  frequently 
occurred  in  the  conversation  as  confirmation  of  their 
own  theories,  or  experiments.  M.  des  Rameures  gave 
preference  to  this  manure,  to  this  machine  for  winnow- 
ing; this  breed  of  animals  was  introduced  by  him.  M. 
des  Rameures  did  this,  M.  des  Rameures  did  that,  and 
the  farmers  did  like  him,  and  found  it  to  their  advan- 
tage. Camors  found  the  General  had  not  exaggerated 
the  local  importance  of  this  personage,  and  that  it 
was  most  essential  to  conciliate  him.  Resolving  there- 
fore to  call  on  him  during  the  day,  he  went  to  break- 
fast. 

This  duty  toward  himself  fulfilled,  the  young  Count 
lounged  on  the  terrace,  as  he  had  the  evening  before, 
and  smoked  his  cigar.  Though  it  was  near  midday, 
it  was  doubtful  to  him  whether  the  solitude  and  silence 
appeared  less  complete  and  oppressive  than  on  the  pre- 
ceding night.  A  hushed  cackling  of  fowls,  the  drowsy 

[90] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

hum  of  bees,  and  the  muffled  chime  of  a  distant  bell— 
these  were  all  the  sounds  to  be  heard. 

Camors  lounged  on  the  terrace,  dreaming  of  his  club, 
of  the  noisy  Paris  crowd,  of  the  rumbling  omnibuses, 
of  the  playbill  of  the  little  kiosk,  of  the  scent  of  heated 
asphalt — and  the  memory  of  the  least  of  these  enchant- 
ments brought  infinite  peace  to  his  soul.  The  inhabit- 
ant of  Paris  has  one  great  blessing,  which  he  does  not 
take  into  account  until  he  suffers  from  its  loss — one 
great  half  of  his  existence  is  filled  up  without  the  least 
trouble  to  himself.  The  all-potent  vitality  which  cease- 
lessly envelops  him  takes  away  from  him  in  a  vast  de- 
gree the  exertion  of  amusing  himself.  The  roar  of  the 
city,  rising  like  a  great  bass  around  him,  fills  up  the 
gaps  in  his  thoughts,  and  never  leaves  that  disagreeable 
sensation — a  void. 

There  is  no  Parisian  who  is  not  happy  in  the  belief 
that  he  makes  all  the  noise  he  hears,  writes  all  the 
books  he  reads,  edits  all  the  journals  on  which  he 
breakfasts,  writes  all  the  vaudevilles  on  which  he  sups, 
and  invents  all  the  bait  mots  he  repeats. 

But  this  flattering  allusion  vanishes  the  moment 
chance  takes  him  a  mile  away  from  the  Rue  Vivienne. 
The  proof  confounds  him,  for  he  is  bored  terribly,  and 
becomes  sick  of  himself.  Perhaps  his  secret  soul,  weak- 
ened and  unnerved,  may  even  be  assailed  by  the  sus- 
picion that  he  is  a  feeble  human  creature  after  all! 
But  no!  He  returns  to  Paris;  the  collective  electricity 
again  inspires  him;  he  rebounds;  he  recovers;  he  is 
busy,  keen  to  discern,  active,  and  recognizes  once  more, 
to  his  intense  satisfaction,  that  he  is  after  all  one  of  the 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

elect  of  God's  creatures — momentarily  degraded,  it 
may  be,  by  contact  with  the  inferior  beings  who  people 
the  departments. 

Camors  had  within  himself  more  resources  than  most 
men  to  conquer  the  blue-devils;  but  in  these  early 
hours  of  his  experience  in  country  life,  deprived  of  his 
club,  his  horses,  and  his  cook,  banished  from  all  his 
old  haunts  and  habits,  he  began  to  feel  terribly  the 
weight  of  time.  He,  therefore,  experienced  a  delicious 
sensation  when  suddenly  he  heard  that  regular  beat  of 
hoofs  upon  the  road  which  to  his  trained  ear  announced 
the  approach  of  several  riding-horses.  The  next  moment 
he  saw  advancing  up  his  shaded  avenue  two  ladies  on 
horseback,  followed  by  a  groom  with  a  black  cockade. 

Though  quite  amazed  at  this  charming  spectacle, 
Camors  remembered  his  duty  as  a  gentleman  and  de- 
scended the  steps  of  the  terrace.  But  the  two.  ladies,  at 
sight  of  him,  appeared  as  surprised  as  himself,  suddenly 
drew  rein  and  conferred  hastily.  Then,  recovering,  they 
continued  their  way,  traversed  the  lower  court  below  the 
terraces,  and  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  lake. 

As  they  passed  the  lower  balustrade  Carriers  bowed 
low,  and  they  returned  his  salutation  by  a  slight  inclina- 
tion; but  he  was  quite  sure,  in  spite  of  the  veils  that 
floated  from  their  riding-hats,  that  he  recognized  the 
black-eyed  singer  and  the  young  pianist.  After  a  mo- 
ment he  called  to  his  old  steward : 

"Monsieur  Leonard,"  he  said,  "is  this  a  public 
way?" 

"It  certainly  is  not  a  public  way,  Monsieur  le  Comte," 
replied  Leonard. 

[92] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"  Then  what  do  these  ladies  mean  by  using  this  road  ?  " 

''Bless  me,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  it  is  so  long  since 
any  of  the  owners  have  been  at  Reuilly !  These  ladies 
mean  no  harm  by  passing  through  your  woods;  and 
sometimes  they  even  stop  at  the  chateau  while  my  wife 
gives  them  fresh  milk.  Shall  I  tell  them  that  this  dis- 
pleases Monsieur  le  Comte?" 

"My  good  Leonard,  why  the  deuce  do  you  suppose 
it  displeases  me?  I  only  asked  for  information.  And 
now  who  are  the  ladies?" 

"Oh!  Monsieur,  they  are  quite  respectable  ladies; 
Madame  de  Tecle,  and  her  daughter,  Mademoiselle 
Marie." 

"So?  And  the  husband  of  Madame,  Monsieur  dc 
Tecle,  never  rides  out  with  them?" 

"Heavens!  no,  Monsieur.  He  never  rides  with 
them."  And  the  old  steward  smiled  a  dry  smile.  "He 
has  been  among  the  dead  men  for  a  long  time,  as  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte  well  knows." 

"Granting  that  I  know  it,  Monsieur  Leonard,  I  wish 
it  understood  these  ladies  are  not  to  be  interfered  with. 
You  comprehend?" 

Leonard  seemed  pleased  that  he  was  not  to  be  the 
bearer  of  any  disagreeable  message ;  and  Camors,  sud- 
denly conceiving  that  his  stay  at  Reuilly  might  be  pro- 
longed for  some  time,  reentered  the  chateau  and 
examined  the  different  rooms,  arranging  with  the  stcv:- 
ard  the  best  plan  of  making  the  house  habitable.  The 

little  town  of  I ,  but  two  leagues  distant,  afforded 

all  the  means,  and  M.  Leonard  proposed  going  there 
at  once  to  confer  with  the  architect. 

[93] 


CHAPTER  VII 

ELISE   DE  TECLE 

iANTIME  Camors  directed  his  steps 
toward  the  residence  of  M.  des  Ra- 
meures,  of  which  he  at  last  obtained 
correct  information.  He  took  the 
same  road  as  the  preceding  evening, 
passed  the  monastic-looking  building 
that  held  Madame  de  Tecle,  glanced 
at  the  old  oak  that  had  served  him 
for  an  observatory,  and  about  a  mile  farther  on  he  dis- 
covered the  small  house  with  towers  that  he  sought. 

It  could  only  be  compared  to  those  imaginary  edifices 
of  which  we  have  all  read  in  childhood's  happy  days 
in  taking  text,  under  an  attractive  picture:  "The  castle 
of  M.  de  Valmont  was  agreeably  situated  at  the  summit 
of  a  pretty  hill."  It  had  a  really  picturesque  surround- 
ing of  fields  sloping  away,  green  as  emerald,  dotted  here 
and  there  with  great  bouquets  of  trees,  or  cut  by  walks 
adorned  with  huge  roses  or  white  bridges  thrown  over 
rivulets.  Cattle  and  sheep  were  resting  here  and  there, 
which  might  have  figured  at  the  Opera  Comique,  so 
shining  were  the  skins  of  the  cows  and  so  white  the 
wool  of  the  sheep.  Camors  swung  open  the  gate,  took 
the  first  road  he  saw,  and  reached  the  top  of  the  hill 
amid  trees  and  flowers.  An  old  servant  slept  on  a 
bench  before  the  door,  smiling  in  his  dreams. 

[94] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

Camors  waked  him,  inquired  for  the  master  of  the 
house,  and  was  ushered  into  a  vestibule.  Thence  he 
entered  a  charming  apartment,  where  a  young  lady  in 
a  short  skirt  and  round  hat  was  arranging  bouquets  in 
Chinese  vases. 

She  turned  at  the  noise  of  the  opening  door,  and  Ca- 
mors saw — Madame  de  Tecle! 

As  he  saluted  her  with  an  air  of  astonishment  and 
doubt,  she  looked  fixedly  at  him  with  her  large  eyes. 
He  spoke  first,  with  more  of  hesitation  than  usual. 

"Pardon  me,  Madame,  but  I  inquired  for  Monsieur 
des  Rameures." 

"He  is  at  the  farm,  but  will  soon  return.  Be  kind 
enough  to  wait." 

She  pointed  to  a  chair,  and  seated  herself,  pushing 
away  with  her  foot  the  branches  that  strewed  the  floor. 

"But,  Madame,  in  the  absence  of  Monsieur  des  Ra- 
meures may  I  have  the  honor  of  speaking  with  his 
niece?" 

The  shadow  of  a  smile  flitted  over  Madame  de 
Tecle's  brown  but  charming  face.  "His  niece?"  she 
said:  "I  am  his  niece." 

"You!  Pardon  me,  Madame,  but  I  thought — they 
said — I  expected  to  find  an  elderly — a — person — that  is, 
a  respectable—  '  he  hesitated,  then  added  simply— 
"and  I  find  I  am  in  error." 

Madame  de  Tecle  seemed  completely  unmoved  by 
this  compliment. 

"Will  you  be  kind  enough,  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "to 
let  me  know  whom  I  have  the  honor  of  receiving?" 

"I  am  Monsieur  de  Camors— 

[95] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Ah!  Then  I  have  excuses  also  to  make.  It  was 
probably  you  whom  we  saw  this  morning.  We  have 
been  very  rude — my  daughter  and  I — but  we  were 
ignorant  of  your  arrival ;  and  Reuilly  has  been  so  long 
deserted." 

"I  sincerely  hope,  Madame,  that  your  daughter  and 
yourself  will  make  no  change  in  your  rides." 

Madame  de  Tecle  replied  by  a  movement  of  the 
hand  that  implied  certainly  she  appreciated  the  offer, 
and  certainly  she  should  not  accept  it.  Then  there 
was  a  pause  long  enough  to  embarrass  Camors,  during 
which  his  eye  fell  upon  the  piano,  and  his  lips  almost 
formed  the  original  remark — "You  are  a  musician, 
Madame."  Suddenly  recollecting  his  tree,  however,  he 
feared  to  betray  himself  by  the  allusion,  and  was  silent. 

"You  come  from  Paris,  Monsieur  de  Camors?" 
Madame  de  Tecle  at  length  asked. 

"No,  Madame,  I  have  been  passing  several  weeks 
with  my  kinsman,  General  de  Campvallon,  who  has 
also  the  honor,  I  believe,  to  be  a  friend  of  yours;  and 
who  has  requested  me  to  call  upon  you." 

"We  are  delighted  that  you  have  done  so;  and  what 
an  excellent  man  the  General  is!" 

"Excellent  indeed,  Madame."  There  was  another 
pause. 

"If  you  do  not  object  to  a  short  walk  in  the  sun," 
said  Madame  de  Tecle  at  length,  "let  us  walk  to  meet 
my  uncle.  We  are  almost  sure  to  meet  him."  Camors 
bowed.  Madame  de  Tecle  rose  and  rang  the  bell— 
"Ask  Mademoiselle  Marie,"  she  said  to  the  servant, 
"to  be  kind  enough  to  put  on  her  hat  and  join  us," 

[96] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

A  moment  after,  Mademoiselle  Marie  entered,  cast 
on  the  stranger  the  steady,  frank  look  of  an  inquisitive 
child,  bowed  slightly  to  him,  and  they  all  left  the  room 
by  a  door  opening  on  the  lawn. 

Madame  de  Tecle,  while  responding  courteously  to 
the  graceful  speeches  of  Camors,  walked  on  with  a  light 
and  rapid  step,  her  fairy-like  little  shoes  leaving  their 
impression  on  the  smooth  fine  sand  of  the  path. 

She  walked  with  indescribable,  unconscious  grace; 
with  that  supple,  elastic  undulation  which  would  have 
been  coquettish  had  it  not  been  undeniably  natural. 
Reaching  the  wall  that  enclosed  the  right  side  of  the 
park,  she  opened  a  wicket  that  led  into  a  narrow  path 
through  a  large  field  of  ripe  corn.  She  passed  into  this 
path,  followed  in  single  file  by  Mademoiselle  Marie  and 
by  Camors.  Until  now  the  child  had  been  very  quiet, 
but  the  rich  golden  corn-tassels,  entangled  with  bright 
daisies,  red  poppies,  and  hollyhocks,  and  the  humming 
concert  of  myriads  of  flies — blue,  yellow,  and  reddish- 
brown — which  sported  amid  the  sweets,  excited  her  be- 
yond self-control.  Stopping  here  and  there  to  pluck  a 
flower,  she  would  turn  and  cry,  " Pardon,  Monsieur;" 
until,  at  length,  on  an  apple-tree  growing  near  the  path 
she  descried  on  a  low  branch  a  green  apple,  no  larger 
than  her  finger.  This  temptation  proved  irresistible, 
and  with  one  spring  into  the  midst  of  the  corn,  she 
essayed  to  reach  the  prize,  if  Providence  would  permit. 
Madame  de  Tecle,  however,  would  not  permit.  She 
seemed  much  displeased,  and  said,  sharply: 

"Marie,  my  child!  In  the  midst  of  the  corn!  Are 
you  crazy!" 

7  [97] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

The  child  returned  promptly  to  the  path,  but  unable 
to  conquer  her  wish  for  the  apple,  turned  an  imploring 
eye  to  Camofs  and  said,  softly:  "Pardon,  Monsieur, 
but  that  apple  would  make  my  bouquet  complete." 

Camors  had  only  to  reach  up,  stretch  out  his  hand, 
and  detach  the  branch  from  the  tree. 

"A  thousand  thanks!"  cried  the  child,  and  adding 
this  crowning  glory  to  her  bouquet,  she  placed  the  whole 
inside  the  ribbon  around  her  hat  and  walked  on  with 
an  air  of  proud  satisfaction. 

As  they  approached  the  fence  running  across  the  end 
of  the  field,  Madame  de  Tecle  suddenly  said:  "My 
uncle,  Monsieur;"  and  Camors,  raising  his  head,  saw 
a  very  tall  man  looking  at  them  over  the  fence  and 
shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand.  His  robust  limbs  were 
clad  in  gaiters  of  yellow  leather  with  steel  buttons,  and 
he  wore  a  loose  coat  of  maroon  velvet  and  a  soft  felt 
hat.  Camors  immediately  recognized  the  white  hair 
and  heavy  black  eyebrows  as  the  same  he  had  seen 
bending  over  the  violin  the  night  before. 

"Uncle,"  said  Madame  de  Tecle,  introducing  the 
young  Count  by  a  wave  of  the  hand :  "This  is  Monsieur 
de  Camors." 

"Monsieur  de  Camors,"  repeated  the  old  man,  in  a 
deep  and  sonorous  voice,  "  you  are  most  welcome ; "  and 
opening  the  gate  he  gave  his  guest  a  soft,  brown  hand, 
as  he  continued:  "I  knew  your  mother  intimately,  and 
am  charmed  to  have  her  son  under  my  roof.  Your 
mother  was  a  most  amiable  person,  Monsieur,  and  cer- 
tainly merited—  The  old  man  hesitated,  and  fin- 
ished his  sentence  by  a  sonorous  "Hem!"  that  re- 

[98] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

sounded  and  rumbled  in  his  chest  as  if  in  the  vault  of 
a  church. 

Then  he  took  the  letter  Camors  handed  to  him,  held 
it  a  long  distance  from  his  eyes,  and  began  reading  it. 
The  General  had  told  the  Count  it  would  be  impolite 
to  break  suddenly  to  M.  des  Rameures  the  plan  they 
had  concocted.  The  latter,  therefore,  found  the  note 
only  a  very  warm  introduction  of  Camors.  The  post- 
script gave  him  the  announcement  of  the  marriage. 

"The  devil!"  he  cried.  "Did  you  know  this,  Elise? 
Campvallon  is  to  be  married!" 

All  women,  widows,  matrons,  or  maids,  are  deeply 
interested  in  matters  pertaining  to  marriage. 

"What,  uncle!  The  General!  Can  it  be?  Are  you 
sure?" 

"  Um — rather.  He  writes  the  news  himself.  Do  you 
know  the  lady,  Monsieur  le  Comte?" 

"Mademoiselle  de  Luc  d'Estrelles  is  my  cousin," 
Camors  replied. 

"Aha!    That  is  right;  and  she  is  of  a  certain  age?" 

"She  is  about  twenty-five." 

M.  des  Rameures  received  this  intelligence  with  one 
of  the  resonant  coughs  peculiar  to  him. 

"May  I  ask,  without  indiscretion,  whether  she  is 
endowed  with  a  pleasing  person?" 

"She  is  exceedingly  beautiful,"  was  the  reply. 

"Hem!  So  much  the  better.  It  seems  to  me  the 
General  is  a  little  old  for  her:  but  every  one  is  the 
best  judge  of  his  own  affairs.  Hem !  the  best  judge  of 
his  own  affairs.  Elise,  my  dear,  whenever  you  are 
ready  we  will  follow  you.  Pardon  me,  Monsieur  le 

[99] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Comte,  for  receiving  you  in  this  rustic  attire,  but  I  am 
a  laborer.  Agricola — a  mere  herdsman— custos  gregis, 
as  the  poet  says.  Walk  before  me,  Monsieur  le  Comte, 
I  beg  you.  Marie,  child,  respect  my  corn! 

"And  can  we  hope,  Monsieur  de  Camors,  that  you 
have  the  happy  idea  of  quitting  the  great  Babylon  to  in- 
stall yourself  among  your  rural  possessions  ?  It  will  be 
a  good  example,  Monsieur — an  excellent  example !  For 
unhappily  to-day  more  than  ever  we  can  say  with  the 
poet: 

'  Non  ullus  aratro 

Dignus  honos ;  squalent  abductis  arva  colonis, 
Et— et— ' 

"And,  by  gracious!  I've  forgotten  the  rest — poor  mem- 
ory! Ah,  young  sir,  never  grow  old — never  grow  old!" 

'"Et  curvae  rigidum  fakes  conflantur  in  ensem,'" 

said  Camors,  continuing  the  broken  quotation. 

"Aha!  you  quote  Virgil.  You  read  the  classics.  I 
am  charmed,  really  charmed.  That  is  not  the  charac- 
teristic of  our  rising  generation,  for  modern  youth  has 
an  idea  it  is  bad  taste  to  quote  the  ancients.  But  that 
is  not  my  idea,  young  sir — not  in  the  least.  Our 
fathers  quoted  freely  because  they  were  familiar  with 
them.  And  Virgil  is  my  poet.  Not  that  I  approve  of 
all  his  theories  of  cultivation.  With  all  the  respect  I 
accord  him,  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  said  on  that  point; 
and  his  plan  of  breeding  in  particular  will  never  do- 
never  do!  Still,  he  is  delicious,  ch?  Very  well,  Mon- 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

sieur  Camors,  now  you  see  my  little  domain— mea  pau- 
per a  regna — the  retreat  of  the  sage.  Here  I  live,  and 
live  happily,  like  an  old  shepherd  in  the  golden  age- 
loved  by  my  neighbors,  which  is  not  easy;  and  venerat- 
ing the  gods,  which  is  perhaps  easier.  Ah,  young  sir, 
as  you  read  Virgil,  you  will  excuse  me  once  more.  It 
was  for  me  he  wrote : 

'  Fortunate  senex,  hie  inter  flumina  nota, 
Et  fontes  sacros  frigus  captabis  opacum.' 

And  this  as  well: 

'  Fortunatus  et  ille  decs  qui  novit  agrestes, 
Panaque,  Silvanumque  senem ! '" 

"Nymphasque  sorores!"  finished  Camors,  smiling 
and  moving  his  head  slightly  in  the  direction  of  Madame 
de  Tecle  and  her  daughter,  who  preceded  them. 

"Quite  to  the  point.  That  is  pure  truth!"  cried  M. 
des  Rameures,  gayly.  "Did  you  hear  that,  niece?" 

"Yes,  uncle." 

"And  did  you  understand  it,  niece?" 

"No,  uncle." 

"I  do  not  believe  you,  my  dear!  I  do  not  believe 
you!"  The  old  man  laughed  heartily.  "Do  not  be- 
lieve her,  Monsieur  de  Camors;  women  have  the 
faculty  of  understanding  compliments  in  every  lan- 
guage." 

This  conversation  brought  them  to  the  chateau, 
where  they  sat  down  on  a  bench  before  the  drawing- 
room  windows  to  enjoy  the  view. 

Camors  praised  judiciously  the  well-kept  park,  ac- 

" 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

cepted  an  invitation  to  dinner  the  next  week,  and  then 
discreetly  retired,  flattering  himself  that  his  introduc- 
tion had  made  a  favorable  impression  upon  M.  des  Ra-1 
meures,  but  regretting  his  apparent  want  of  progress 
with  the  fairy-footed  niece. 

He  was  in  error. 

"This  youth,"  said  M.  des  Rameures,  when  he  was 
left  alone  with  Madame  de  Tecle,  "has  some  touch  of 
the  ancients,  which  is  something;  but  he  still  resembles 
his  father,  who  was  vicious  as  sin  itself.  His  eyes  and 
his  smile  recall  some  traits  of  his  admirable  mother;  but 
positively,  my  dear  Elise,  he  is  the  portrait  of  his  father, 
whose  manners  and  whose  principles  they  say  he  has 
inherited." 

"Who  says  so,  uncle?" 

"Current  rumor,  niece." 

"Current  rumor,  my  dear  uncle,  is  often  mistaken, 
and  always  exaggerates.  For  my  part,  I  like  the  young 
man,  who  seems  thoroughly  refined  and  at  his  ease." 

"Bah!  I  suppose  because  he  compared  you  to  a 
nymph  in  the  fable." 

"If  he  compared  me  to  a  nymph  in  the  fable  he  was 
wrong;  but  he  never  addressed  to  me  a  word  in  French 
that  was  not  in  good  taste.  Before  we  condemn  him, 
uncle,  let  us  see  for  ourselves.  It  is  a  habit  you  have 
always  recommended  to  me,  you  know." 

"You  can  not  deny,  niece,"  said  the  old  man  with 
irritation,  "that  he  exhales  the  most  decided  and  dis- 
agreeable odor  of  Paris!  He  is  too  polite — too  studied! 
Not  a  shadow  of  enthusiasm — no  fire  of  youth!  He 
never  laughs  as  I  should  wish  to  sec  a  man  of  his 

[102] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

age  laugh;  a  young  man  should  roar  to  split  his 
waistband!" 

"What!  you  would  see  him  merry  so  soon  after  los- 
ing his  father  in  such  a  tragic  manner,  and  he  himself 
nearly  ruined!  Why,  uncle,  what  can  you  mean?" 

"Well,  well,  perhaps  you  are  right.  I  retract  all  I 
have  said  against  him.  If  he  be  half  ruined  I  will  offer 
him  my  advice — and  my  purse  if  he  need  it — for  the 
sake  of  the  memory  of  his  mother,  whom  you  resemble. 
Ah,  'tis  thus  we  end  all  our  disputes,  naughty  child!  I 
grumble ;  I  am  passionate ;  I  act  like  a  Tartar.  Then 
you  speak  with  your  good  sense  and  sweetness,  my 
darling,  and  the  tiger  becomes  a  lamb.  All  unhappy 
beings  whom  you  approach  in  the  same  way  submit  to 
your  subtle  charm.  And  that  is  the  reason  why  my 
old  friend,  La  Fontaine,  said  of  you: 

'  Sur  diffe'rentes  fleurs  Pabeille  se  repose, 
Et  fait  du  miel  de  toute  chose!'" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A   DISH   OF   POLITICS 

*LISE  D£  TECLE  was  thirty  years  of 
age,  but  appeared  much  younger. 
At  seventeen  she  had  married,  under 
peculiar  conditions,  her  cousin  Roland 
de  Tecle.  She  had  been  left  an 
orphan  at  an  early  age  and  educated 
by  her  mother's  brother,  M.  des  Ra- 
meures.  Roland  lived  very  near  her 
father's  estate.  Everything  brought  them  together — 
the  wishes  of  the  family,  compatibility  of  fortune,  their 
relations  as  neighbors,  and  a  personal  sympathy.  They 
were  both  charming;  they  were  destined  for  each  other 
from  infancy,  and  the  time  fixed  for  their  marriage  was 
the  nineteenth  birthday  of  Elise.  In  anticipation  of 
this  happy  event  the  Comte  de  Tecle  rebuilt  almost 
entirely  one  wing  of  his  castle  for  the  exclusive  use  of 
the  young  pair.  Roland  was  continually  present,  super- 
intending and  urging  on  the  work  with  all  the  ardor  of 
a  lover. 

One  morning  loud  and  alarming  cries  from  the  new 
wing  roused  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  castle ;  the  Count 
hurried  to  the  spot,  and  found  his  son  stunned  and 
bleeding  in  the  arms  of  one  of  the  workmen.  He  had 
fallen  from  a  high  scaffolding  to  the  pavement.  For 

[104] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

several  months  the  unfortunate  young  man  hovered  be- 
tween life  and  death ;  but  in  the  paroxysms  of  fever  he 
never  ceased  calling  for  his  cousin — his  betrothed ;  and 
they  were  obliged  to  admit  the  young  girl  to  his  bed- 
side. Slowly  he  recovered,  but  was  ever  after  dis- 
figured and  lame ;  and  the  first  time  they  allowed  him  to 
look  in  a  glass  he  had  a  fainting-fit  that  proved  almost 
fatal. 

But  he  was  a  youth  of  high  principle  and  true  cour- 
age. On  recovering  from  his  swoon  he  wept  a  flood  of 
bitter  tears,  which  would  not,  however,  wash  the  scars 
from  his  disfigured  face.  He  prayed  long  and  ear- 
nestly; then  shut  himself  up  with  his  father.  Each 
wrote  a  letter,  the  one  to  M.  des  Rameures,  the  other 
to  Elise.  M.  des  Rameures  and  his  niece  were  then 
in  Germany.  The  excitement  and  fatigue  consequent 
upon  nursing  her  cousin  had  so  broken  her  health  that 
the  physicians  urged  a  trial  of  the  baths  of  Ems.  There 
she  received  these  letters;  they  released  her  from  her 
engagement  and  gave  her  absolute  liberty. 

Roland  and  his  father  implored  her  not  to  return  in 
haste;  explained  that  their  intention  was  to  leave  the 
country  in  a  few  weeks'  time  and  establish  themselves 
at  Paris;  and  added  that  they  expected  no  answer,  and 
that  their  resolution — impelled  by  simple  justice  to  her 
—was  irrevocable. 

Their  wishes  were  complied  with.    No  answer  came. 

Roland,  his  sacrifice  once  made,  seemed  calm  and 
resigned ;  but  he  fell  into  a  sort  of  languor,  which  made 
fearful  progress  and  hinted  at  a  speedy  and  fatal  termi- 
nation, for  which  in  fact  he  seemed  to  long.  One  evcn- 

[105] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

ing  they  had  taken  him  to  the  lime-tree  terrace  at  the 
foot  of  the  garden.  He  gazed  with  absent  eye  on  the 
tints  with  which  the  setting  sun  purpled  the  glades  of 
the  wood,  while  his  father  paced  the  terrace  with  long 
strides — smiling  as  he  passed  him  and  hastily  brushing 
away  a  tear  as  he  turned  his  back. 

Suddenly  Elise  de  Tecle  appeared  before  them,  like 
an  angel  dropped  from  heaven.  She  knelt  before  the 
crippled  youth,  kissed  his  hand,  and,  brightening  him 
with  the  rays  of  her  beautiful  eyes,  told  him  she  never 
had  loved  him  half  so  well  before.  He  felt  she  spoke 
truly;  he  accepted  her  devotion,  and  they  were  married 
soon  after. 

Madame  de  Tecle  was  happy — but  she  alone  was 
so.  Her  husband,  notwithstanding  the  tenderness  with 
which  she  treated  him — notwithstanding  the  happiness 
which  he  could  not  fail  to  read  in  her  tranquil  glance 
—notwithstanding  the  birth  of  a  daughter — seemed 
never  to  console  himself.  Even  with  her  he  was  always 
possessed  by  a  cold  constraint;  some  secret  sorrow 
consumed  him,  of  which  they  found  the  key  only  on 
the  day  of  his  death. 

"My  darling,"  he  then  said  to  his  young  wife — "my 
darling,  may  God  reward  you  for  your  infinite  good- 
ness! Pardon  me,  if  I  never  have  told  you  how  en- 
tirely I  love  you.  With  a  face  like  mine,  how  could  I 
speak  of  love  to  one  like  you!  But  my  poor  heart  has 
been  brimming  over  with  it  all  the  while.  Oh,  Elise! 
how  I  have  suffered  when  I  thought  of  what  I  was  be- 
fore— how  much  more  worthy  of  you !  But  we  shall  be 
reunited,  dearest— shall  we  not? — where  I  shall  be  as 

[106] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

perfect  as  you,  and  where  I  may  tell  you  how  much  I 
adore  you !  Do  not  weep  for  me,  my  own  Elise !  I  am 
happy  now,  for  the  first  time,  for  I  have  dared  to  open 
my  heart  to  you.  Dying  men  do  not  fear  ridicule. 
Farewell,  Elise — darling — wife!  I  love  you!"  These 
tender  words  were  his  last. 

After  her  husband's  death,  Madame  de  Tecle  lived 
with  her  father-in-law,  but  passed  much  of  her  time 
with  her  uncle.  She  busied  herself  with  the  greatest 
solicitude  in  the  education  of  her  daughter,  and  kept 
house  for  both  the  old  men,  by  both  of  whom  she  was 
equally  idolized. 

From  the  lips  of  the  priest  at  Reuilly,  whom  he  called 
on  next  day,  Camors  learned  some  of  these  details, 
while  the  old  man  practiced  the  violoncello  with  his 
heavy  spectacles  on  his  nose.  Despite  his  fixed  reso- 
lution of  preserving  universal  scorn,  Camors  could  not 
resist  a  vague  feeling  of  respect  for  Madame  de  Tecle; 
but  it  did  not  entirely  eradicate  the  impure  sentiment 
he  was  disposed  to  dedicate  to  her.  Fully  determined 
to  make  her,  if  not  his  victim,  at  least  his  ally,  he  felt 
that  this  enterprise  was  one  of  unusual  difficulty.  But 
he  was  energetic,  and  did  not  object  to  difficulties — 
especially  when  they  took  such  charming  shape  as  in 
the  present  instance. 

His  meditations  on  this  theme  occupied  him  agree- 
ably the  rest  of  that  week,  during  which  time  he  over- 
looked his  workmen  and  conferred  with  his  architect. 
Besides,  his  horses,  his  books,  his  domestics,  and  his 
journals  arrived  successively  to  dispel  ennui.  There- 
fore he  looked  remarkably  well  when  he  jumped  out  of 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

his  dog-cart  the  ensuing  Monday  in  front  of  M.  des 
Rameures's  door  under  the  eyes  of  Madame  de  Tecle. 
As  the  latter  gently  stroked  with  her  white  hand  the 
black  and  smoking  shoulder  of  the  thoroughbred  Fitz- 
Aymon,  Camors  was  for  the  first  time  presented  to  the 
Comte  de  Tecle,  a  quiet,  sad,  and  taciturn  old  gentle- 
man. The  cure,  the  sub-prefect  of  the  district  and  his 
wife,  the  tax-collector,  the  family  physician,  and  the 
tutor  completed,  as  the  journals  say,  the  list  of  the 
guests. 

During  dinner  Camors,  secretly  excited  by  the  im- 
mediate vicinity  of  Madame  de  Tecle,  essayed  to  tri- 
umph over  that  hostility  that  the  presence  of  a  stran- 
ger invariably  excites  in  the  midst  of  intimacies  which 
it  disturbs.  His  calm  superiority  asserted  itself  so 
mildly  it  was  pardoned  for  its  grace.  Without  a  gay- 
ety  unbecoming  his  mourning,  he  nevertheless  made 
such  lively  sallies  and  such  amusing  jokes  about  his 
first  mishaps  at  Reuilly  as  to  break  up  the  stiffness  of 
the  party.  He  conversed  pleasantly  with  each  one  in 
turn,  and,  seeming  to  take  the  deepest  interest  in  his 
affairs,  put  him  at  once  at  his  ease. 

He  skilfully  gave  M.  des  Rameures  the  opportunity 
for  several  happy  quotations;  spoke  naturally  to  him 
of  artificial  pastures,  and  artificially  of  natural  pastures; 
of  breeding  and  of  non-breeding  cows;  of  Dishley 
sheep — and  of  a  hundred  other  matters  he  had  that 
morning  crammed  from  an  old  encyclopaedia  and  a 
county  almanac. 

To  Madame  de  Tecle  directly  he  spoke  little,  but  he 
did  not  speak  one  word  during  the  dinner  that  was  not 

[1C*] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

meant  for  her;  and  his  manner  to  women  was  so 
caressing,  yet  so  chivalric,  as  to  persuade  them,  even 
while  pouring  out  their  wine,  that  he  was  ready  to  die 
for  them.  The  dear  charmers  thought  him  a  good, 
simple  fellow,  while  he  was  the  exact  reverse. 

On  leaving  the  table  they  went  out  of  doors  to  enjoy 
the  starlight  evening,  and  M.  des  Rameures — whose 
natural  hospitality  was  somewhat  heightened  by  a 
goblet  of  his  own  excellent  wine — said  to  Camors: 

"  My  dear  Count,  you  eat  honestly,  you  talk  admir- 
ably, you  drink  like  a  man.  On  my  word,  I  am  dis- 
posed to  regard  you  as  perfection — as  a  paragon  of 
neighbors — if  in  addition  to  all  the  rest  you  add  the 
crowning  one.  Do  you  love  music?" 

"Passionately!"  answered  Camors,  with  effusion. 

"  Passionately  ?  Bravo!  That  is  the  way  one  should 
love  everything  that  is  worth  loving.  I  am  delighted, 
for  we  make  here  a  troupe  of  fanatical  melomaniacs,  as 
you  will  presently  perceive.  As  for  myself,  I  scrape 
wildly  on  the  violin,  as  a  simple  country  amateur — 
Orpheus  in  silvis.  Do  not  imagine,  however,  Monsieur 
le  Comte,  that  we  let  the  worship  of  this  sweet  art 
absorb  all  our  faculties — all  our  time — certainly  not. 
When  you  take  part  in  our  little  reunions,  which  of 
course  you  will  do,  you  will  find  we  disdain  no  pursuit 
worthy  of  thinking  beings.  We  pass  from  music  to 
literature — to  science — even  to  philosophy;  but  we  do 
this — I  pray  you  to  believe — without  pedantry  and 
without  leaving  the  tone  of  familiar  converse.  Some- 
times we  read  verses,  but  we  never  make  them ;  we  love 
the  ancients  and  do  not  fear  the  moderns :  we  only  fear 

[109] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

those  who  would  lower  the  mind  and  debase  the  heart. 
We  love  the  past  while  we  render  justice  to  the  present; 
and  flatter  ourselves  at  not  seeing  many  things  that  to 
you  appear  beautiful,  useful,  and  true. 

"Such  are  we,  my  young  friend.  We  call  ourselves 
the  'Colony  of  Enthusiasts,'  but  our  malicious  neigh- 
bors call  us  the  'Hotel  de  Rambouillet.'  Envy,  you 
know,  is  a  plant  that  does  not  flourish  in  the  country; 
but  here,  by  way  of  exception,  we  have  a  few  jealous 
people — rather  bad  for  them,  but  of  no  consequence  to 
us. 

"We  are  an  odd  set,  with  the  most  opposite  opinions. 
For  me,  I  am  a  Legitimist;  then  there  is  Durocher, 
my  physician  and  friend,  who  is  a  rabid  Republican; 
Hedouin,  the  tutor,  is  a  parliamentarian;  while  Mon- 
sieur our  sub-prefect  is  a  devotee  to  the  government,  as 
it  is  his  duty  to  be.  Our  cure  is  a  little  Roman — I  am 
Gallican — et  sic  ceteris.  Very  well — we  all  agree  won- 
derfully for  two  reasons:  first,  because  we  are  sincere, 
which  is  a  very  rare  thing;  and  then  because  all  opin- 
ions contain  at  bottom  some  truth,  and  because,  with 
some  slight  mutual  concessions,  all  really  honest  people 
come  very  near  having  the  same  opinions. 

"Such,  my  dear  Count,  are  the  views  that  hold  in 
my  drawing-room,  or  rather  in  the  drawing-room  of 
my  niece ;  for  if  you  would  see  the  divinity  who  makes 
all  our  happiness — look  at  her!  It  is  in  deference  to 
her  good  taste,  her  good  sense,  and  her  moderation, 
that  each  of  us  avoids  that  violence  -and  that  passion 
which  warps  the  best  intentions.  In  one  word,  to  speak 
truly,  it  is  love  that  makes  our  common  tie  and  our 

[no] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

mutual  protection.  We  are  all  in  love  with  my  niece 
—myself  first,  of  course;  next  Durocher,  for  thirty 
years;  then  the  sub-prefect  and  all  the  rest  of  them. 

"You,  too,  Cure!  you  know  that  you  are  in  love  with 
Elise,  in  all  honor  and  all  good  faith,  as  we  all  are,  and 
as  Monsieur  de  Camors  shall  soon  be,  if  he  is  not  so 
already — eh,  Monsieur  le  Comte?" 

Camors  protested,  with  a  sinister  smile,  that  he -felt 
very  much  inclined  to  fulfil  the  prophecy  of  his  host; 
and  they  reentered  the  dining-room  to  find  the  circle 
increased  by  the  arrival  of  several  visitors.  Some  of 
these  rode,  others  came  on  foot  from  the  country-seats 
around. 

M.  des  Rameures  soon  seized  his  violin;  while  he 
tuned  it,  little  Marie  seated  herself  at  the  piano,  and 
her  mother,  coming  behind  her,  rested  her  hand  lightly 
on  her  shoulder,  as  if  to  beat  the  measure. 

"The  music  will  be  nothing  new  to  you,"  Camors's 
host  said  to  him.  "It  is  simply  Schubert's  Serenade, 
which  we  have  arranged,  or  deranged,  after  our  own 
fancy;  of  which  you  shall  judge.  My  niece  sings,  and 
the  curate  and  I — Arcades  anibo — respond  successively 
—he  on  the  bass-viol  and  I  on  my  Stradivarius.  Come, 
my  dear  Cure",  let  us  begin — incipe,  Mopse,  prior." 

In  spite  of  the  masterly  execution  of  the  old  gentle- 
man and  of  the  delicate  science  of  the  cure",  it  was 
Madame  de  Tecle  who  appeared  to  Camors  the  most 
remarkable  of  the  three  virtuosi.  The  calm  repose  of 
her  features,  and  the  gentle  dignity  of  her  attitude,  con- 
trasting with  the  passionate  swell  of  her  voice,  he  found 
most  attractive. 

[in] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

In  his  turn  he  seated  himself  at  the  piano,  and 
played  a  difficult  accompaniment  with  real  taste;  and 
having  a  good  tenor  voice,  and  a  thorough  knowledge 
of  its  powers,  he  exerted  them  so  effectually  as  to  pro- 
duce a  profound  sensation.  During  the  rest  of  the 
evening  he  kept  much  in  the  background  in  order  to 
observe  the  company,  and  was  much  astonished  there- 
by. The  tone  of  this  little  society,  as  much  removed 
from  vulgar  gossip  as  from  affected  pedantry,  was  truly 
elevated.  There  was  nothing  to  remind  him  of  a  por- 
ter's lodge,  as  in  most  provincial  salons;  or  of  the  green- 
room of  a  theatre,  as  in  many  salons  of  Paris;  nor  yet, 
as  he  had  feared,  of  a  lecture-room. 

There  were  five  or  six  women — some  pretty,  all  well 
bred — who,  in  adopting  the  habit  of  thinking,  had  not 
lost  the  habit  of  laughing,  nor  the  desire  to  please.  But 
they  all  seemed  subject  to  the  same  charm;  and  that 
charm  was  sovereign.  Madame  de  Tecle,  half  hid- 
den on  her  sofa,  and  seemingly  busied  with  her  em- 
broidery, animated  all  by  a  glance,  softened  all  by  a 
word.  The  glance  was  inspiring;  the  word  always 
appropriate.  Her  decision  on  all  points  they  regarded 
as  final — as  that  of  a  judge  who  sentences,  or  of  a 
woman  who  is  beloved. 

No  verses  were  read  that  evening,  and  Camors  was 
not  bored.  In  the  intervals  of  the  music,  the  conver- 
sation touched  on  the  new  comedy  by  Augier;  the  last 
work  of  Madame  Sand ;  the  latest  poem  of  Tennyson ; 
or  the  news  from  America. 

"My  dear  Mopsus,"  M.  des  Rameures  said  to  the 
pur£,  "you  were  about  to  read  us  your  sermon  pri 

[112] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

superstition  last  Thursday,  when  you  were  interrupted 
by  that  joker  who  climbed  the  tree  in  order  to  hear  you 
better.  Now  is  the  time  to  recompense  us.  Take  this 
seat  and  we  will  all  listen  to  you." 

The  worthy  cure  took  the  seat,  unfolded  his  manu- 
script, and  began  his  discourse,  which  we  shall  not  here 
report:  profiting  by  the  example  of  our  friend  Sterne, 
not  to  mingle  the  sacred  with  the  profane. 

The  sermon  met  with  general  approval,  though  some 
persons,  M.  des  Rameures  among  them,  thought  it 
above  the  comprehension  of  the  humble  class  for  whom 
it  was  intended.  M.  de  Tecle,  however,  backed  by 
republican  Durocher,  insisted  that  the  intelligence  of 
the  people  was  underrated;  that  they  were  frequently 
debased  by  those  who  pretended  to  speak  only  up  to 
their  level — and  the  passages  in  dispute  were  retained. 

How  they  passed  from  the  sermon  on  superstition  to 
the  approaching  marriage  of  the  General,  I  can  not  say; 
but  it  was  only  natural  after  all,  for  the  whole  country, 
for  twenty  mi'es  around,  was  ringing  with  it.  This 
theme  excited  Camors's  attention  at  once,  especially 
when  the  sub-prefect  intimated  with  much  reserve  that 
the  General,  busied  with  his  new  surroundings,  would 
probably  resign  his  office  as  deputy. 

"But  that  would  be  embarrassing,"  exclaimed  Des 
Rameures.  "Who  the  deuce  would  replace  him?  I 
give  you  warning,  Monsieur  Prefect,  if  you  intend  im- 
posing on  us  some  Parisian  with  a  flower  in  his  button- 
hole, I  shall  pack  him  back  to  his  club — him,  his 
flower,  and  his  buttonhole!  You  may  set  that  down 
for  a  sure  thing — 

8  » 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Dear  uncle!"  said  Madame  de  Tecle,  indicating 
Camors  with  a  glance. 

"I  understand  you,  Elisc,"  laughingly  rejoined  M. 
des  Rameures,  "but  I  must  beg  Monsieur  de  Camors 
to  believe  that  I  do  not  in  any  case  intend  to  offend 
him.  I  shall  also  beg  him  to  tolerate  the  monomania 
of  an  old  man,  and  some  freedom  of  language  with 
regard  to  the  only  subject  which  makes  him  lose  his 
sangfroid." 

"And  what  is  that  subject,  Monsieur?"  said  Camors, 
with  his  habitual  captivating  grace  of  manner. 

"That  subject,  Monsieur,  is  the  arrogant  supremacy 
assumed  by  Paris  over  all  the  rest  of  France.  I  have 
not  put  my  foot  in  the  place  since  1825,  in  order  to 
testify  the  abhorrence  with  which  it  inspires  me.  You 
are  an  educated,  sensible  young  man,  and,  I  trust,  a 
good  Frenchman.  Very  well!  Is  it  right,  I  ask,  that 
Paris  shall  every  morning  send  out  to  us  our  ideas 
ready-made,  and  that  all  France  shall  become  a  mere 
humble,  servile  faubourg  to  the  capital?  Do  me  the 
favor,  I  pray  you,  Monsieur,  to  answer  that?" 

"There  is  doubtless,  my  dear  sir,"  replied  Camors, 
"some  excess  in  this  extreme  centralization  of  France; 
but  all  civilized  countries  must  have  their  capitals,  and 
a  head  is  just  as  necessary  to  a  nation  as  to  an  indi- 
vidual." 

"Taking  your  own  image,  Monsieur,  I  shall  turn  it 
against  you.  Yes,  doubtless  a  head  is  as  necessary  to 
a  nation  as  to  an  individual ;  if,  however,  the  head  be- 
comes monstrous  and  deformed,  the  seat  of  intelligence 
will  be  turned  into  that  of  idiocy,  and  in  place  of  a  man 

["4] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

of  intellect,  you  have  a  hydrocephalus.  Pray  give  heed 
to  what  Monsieur  the  Sub-prefect,  may  say  in  answer 
to  what  I  shall  ask  him.  Now,  my  dear  Sub-prefect, 
be  frank.  If  to-morrow,  the  deputation  of  this  district 
should  become  vacant,  can  you  find  within  its  broad 
limits,  or  indeed  within  the  district,  a  man  likely  to  fill 
all  functions,  good  and  bad?" 

"Upon  my  word,"  answered  the  official,  "if  you 
continue  to  refuse  the  office,  I  really  know  of  no  one 
else  fit  for  it." 

"I  shall  persist  all  my  life,  Monsieur,  for  at  my  age 
assuredly  I  shall  not  expose  myself  to  the  buffoonery 
of  your  Parisian  jesters." 

"Very  well!  In  that  event  you  will  be  obliged  to 
take  some  stranger — perhaps,  even  one  of  those  Parisian 
jesters." 

"You  have  heard  him,  Monsieur  de  Camors,"  said 
M.  des  Rameures,  with  exultation.  "This  district 
numbers  six  hundred  thousand  souls,  and  yet  does  not 
contain  within  it  the  material  for  one  deputy.  There 
is  no  other  civilized  country,  I  submit,  in  which  we  can 
find  a  similar  instance  so  scandalous.  For  the  people 
of  France  this  shame  is  reserved  exclusively,  and  it  is 
your  Paris  that  has  brought  it  upon  us.  Paris,  absorb- 
ing all  the  blood,  life,  thought,  and  action  of  the  coun- 
try, has  left  a  mere  geographical  skeleton  in  place  of  a 
nation!  These  are  the  benefits  of  your  centralization, 
since  you  have  pronounced  that  word,  which  is  quite 
as  barbarous  as  the  thing  itself." 

"But  pardon  me,  uncle,"  said  Madame  de  Tecle, 
quietly  plying  her  needle,  "I  know  nothing  of  these 

["51 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

matters,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  heard  you  say 
this  centralization  was  the  work  of  the  Revolution  and 
of  the  First  Consul.  Why,  therefore,  do  you  call  Mon- 
sieur de  Camors  to  account  for  it  ?  That  certainly  does 
not  seem  to  me  just." 

"Nor  does  it  seem  so  to  me,"  said  Camors,  bowing 
to  Madame  de  Tecle. 

"Nor  to  me  either,"  rejoined  M.  des  Rameures, 
smiling. 

"However,  Madame,"  resumed  Camors,  "I  may  to 
some  extent  be  held  responsible  in  this  matter,  for 
though,  as  you  justly  suggest,  I  have  not  brought  about 
this  centralization,  yet  I  confess  I  strongly  approve  the 
course  of  those  who  did." 

"Bravo!  So  much  the  better,  Monsieur.  I  like 
that.  One  should  have  his  own  positive  opinions,  and 
defend  them." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Camors,  "I  shall  make  an  excep- 
tion in  your  honor,  for  when  I  dine  out,  and  especially 
when  I  dine  well,  I  always  have  the  same  opinion  with 
my  host;  but  I  respect  you  too  highly  not  to  dare  to 
differ  with  you.  Well,  then,  I  think  the  revolutionary 
Assembly,  and  subsequently  the  First  Consul,  were 
happily  inspired  in  imposing  a  vigorous  centralized  po- 
litical administration  upon  France.  I  believe,  indeed, 
that  it  was  indispensable  at  the  time,  in  order  to  mold 
and  harden  our  social  body  in  its  new  form,  to  adjust 
it  in  its  position,  and  fix  it  firmly  under  the  new  laws— 
that  is,  to  establish  and  maintain  this  powerful  French 
unity  which  has  become  our  national  peculiarity,  our 
genius  and  our  strength." 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMOKS 

"You  speak  rightly,  sir,"  exclaimed  Durocher. 

"Parbleu!  unquestionably  you  arc  right,"  warmly 
rejoined  M.  dcs  Rameures.  "Yes,  that  is  quite  true. 
The  excessive  centralization  of  which  I  complain  has 
had  its  hour  of  utility,  nay,  even  of  necessity,  I  will 
admit;  but,  Monsieur,  in  what  human  institution  do 
you  pretend  to  implant  the  absolute,  the  eternal? 
Feudalism,  also,  my  dear  sir,  was  a  benefit  and  a  prog- 
ress in  its  day,  but  that  which  was  a  benefit  yesterday 
may  it  not  become  an  evil  to-morrow — a  danger? 
That  which  is  progress  to-day,  may  it  not  one  hundred 
years  hence  have  become  mere  routine,  and  a  down- 
right trammel?  Is  not  that  the  history  of  the  world? 
And  if  you  wish  to  know,  Monsieur,  by  what  sign  we 
may  recognize  the  fact  that  a  social  or  political  system 
has  attained  its  end,  I  will  tell  you:  it  is  when  it  is 
manifest  only  in  its  inconveniences  and  abuses.  Then 
the  machine  has  finished  its  work,  and  chould  be  re- 
placed. Indeed,  I  declare  that  French  centralization 
has  reached  its  critical  term,  that  fatal  point  at  which, 
after  protecting,  it  oppresses;  at  which,  after  vivifying, 
it  paralyzes;  at  which,  having  saved  France,  it  crushes 
her." 

"Dear  uncle,  you  are  carried  away  by  your  subject," 
said  Madame  de  Tecle. 

"Yes,  Elise,  I  am  carried  away,  I  admit,  but  I  am 
right.  Everything  justifies  me — the  past  and  the  pres- 
ent, I  am  sure;  and  so  will  the  future,  I  fear.  Did  I 
say  the  past?  Be  assured,  Monsieur  de  Camors,  I  am 
not  a  narrow-minded  admirer  of  the  past.  Though  a 
Legitimist  from  personal  affections,  I  am  a  downright 

["7] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Liberal  in  principles.  You  know  that,  Durocher? 
Well,  then,  in  short,  formerly  between  the  Alps,  the 
Rhine,  and  the  Pyrenees,  was  a  great  country  which 
lived,  thought,  and  acted,  not  exclusively  through  its 
capital,  but  for  itself.  It  had  a  head,  assuredly;  but 
it  had  also  a  heart,  muscles,  nerves,  and  veins  with 
blood  in  them,  and  yet  the  head  lost  nothing  by  that. 
There  was  then  a  France,  Monsieur.  The  province 
had  an  existence,  subordinate  doubtless,  but  real,  active, 
and  independent.  Each  government,  each  office,  each 
parliamentary  centre  was  a  living  intellectual  focus. 
The  great  provincial  institutions  and  local  liberties 
exercised  the  intellect  on  all  sides,  tempered  the  char- 
acter, and  developed  men.  And  now  note  well,  Du- 
rocher! If  France  had  been  centralized  formerly  as 
to-day,  your  dear  Revolution  never  would  have  oc- 
curred— do  you  understand?  Never!  because  there 
would  have  been  no  men  to  make  it.  For  may  I  not 
ask,  whence  came  that  prodigious  concourse  of  intelli- 
gences all  fully  armed,  and  with  heroic  hearts,  which 
the  great  social  movement  of  1780  suddenly  brought 
upon  the  scene?  Please  recall  to  mind  the  most  illus- 
trious men  of  that  era — lawyers,  orators,  soldiers. 
How  many  were  from  Paris  ?  All  came  from  the  prov- 
inces, the  fruitful  womb  of  France!  But  to-day  we 
have  simply  need  of  a  deputy,  peaceful  times;  and  yet, 
out  of  six  hundred  thousand  souls,  as  we  have  seen,  we 
can  not  find  one  suitable  man.  Why  is  this  the  case, 
gentlemen?  Because  upon  the  soil  of  uncentralized 
France  men  grew,  while  only  functionaries  germinate 
in  the  soil  of  centralized  France." 

[118] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"God  bless  you,  Monsieur!"  said  the  Sub-prefect, 
with  a  smile. 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  Sub-prefect,  but  you,  too, 
should  understand  that  I  really  plead  your  cause  as 
well  as  my  own,  when  I  claim  for  the  provinces,  and 
for  all  the  functions  of  provincial  life,  more  independ- 
ence, dignity,  and  grandeur.  In  the  state  to  which 
these  functions  are  reduced  at  present,  the  administra- 
tion and  the  judiciary  are  equally  stripped  of  power, 
prestige,  and  patronage.  You  smile,  Monsieur,  but  no 
longer,  as  formerly,  are  they  the  centres  of  life,  of  emu- 
lation, and  of  light,  civic  schools  and  manly  gymnasi- 
ums; they  have  become  merely  simple,  passive  clock- 
work; and  that  is  the  case  with  the  rest,  Monsieur  de 
Camors.  Our  municipal  institutions  are  a  mere  farce, 
our  provincial  assemblies  only  a  name,  our  local  liberties 
naught!  Consequently,  we  have  not  now  a  man  for  a 
deputy.  But  why  should  we  complain?  Does  not 
Paris  undertake  to  live,  to  think  for  us?  Does  she  not 
deign  to  cast  to  us,  as  of  yore  the  Roman  Senate  cast  to 
the  suburban  plebeians,  our  food  for  the  day — bread  and 
vaudevilles — panem  et  circenses.  Yes,  Monsieur,  let  us 
turn  from  the  past  to  the  present — to  France  of  to-day! 
A  nation  of  forty  millions  of  people  who  await  each 
morning  from  Paris  the  signal  to  know  whether  it  is  day 
or  night,  or  whether,  indeed,  they  shall  laugh  or  weep! 
A  great  people,  once  the  noblest,  the  cleverest  in  the 
world,  repeating  the  same  day,  at  the  same  hour,  in  all 
the  salons,  and  at  all  the  crossways  in  the  empire,  the 
same  imbecile  gabble  engendered  the  evening  before  in 
the  mire  of  the  boulevards.  I  tell  you,  Monsieur,  it  is 

[119] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

humiliating  that  all  Europe,  once  jealous  of  us,  should 
now  shrug  her  shoulders  in  our  faces.  Besides,  it  is 
fatal  even  for  Paris,  which,  permit  me  to  add,  drunk 
with  prosperity  in  its  haughty  isolation  and  self -fetish- 
ism, not  a  little  resembles  the  Chinese  Empire — a  focus 
of  warmed-over,  corrupt,  and  frivolous  civilization! 
As  for  the  future,  my  dear  sir,  may  God  preserve  me 
from  despair,  since  it  concerns  my  country!  This  age 
has  already  seen  great  things,  great  marvels,  in  fact;  for 
I  beg  you  to  remember  I  am  by  no  means  an  enemy  to 
my  time.  I  approve  the  Revolution,  liberty,  equality, 
the  press,  railways,  and  the  telegraph;  and  as  I  often 
say  to  Monsieur  le  Cure,  every  cause  that  would  live 
must  accommodate  itself  cheerfully  to  the  progress  of 
its  epoch,  and  study  how  to  serve  itself  by  it.  Every 
cause  that  is  in  antagonism  with  its  age  commits  suicide. 
Indeed,  Monsieur,  I  trust  this  century  will  see  one  more 
great  event,  the  end  of  this  Parisian  tyranny,  and  the 
resuscitation  of  provincial  life;  for  I  must  repeat,  my 
dear  sir,  that  your  centralization,  which  was  once  an 
excellent  remedy,  is  a  detestable  regimen!  It  is  a  hor- 
rible instrument  of  oppression  and  tyranny,  ready-made 
for  all  hands,  suitable  for  every  despotism,  and  under 
it  France  stifles  and  wastes  away.  You  must  agree 
with  me  yourself,  Durocher;  in  this  sense  the  Revolu- 
tion overshot  its  mark,  and  placed  in  jeopardy  even  its 
purposes;  for  you,  who  love  liberty,  and  do  not  wish  it 
merely  for  yourself  alone,  as  some  of  your  friends  do, 
but  for  all  the  world,  surely  you  can  not  admire  centrali- 
zation, which  proscribes  liberty  as  manifestly  as  night 
obscures  the  day.  As  for  my  part,  gentlemen,  there  are 

[120] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

two  things  which  I  love  equally — liberty  and  France. 
Well,  then,  as  I  believe  in  God,  do  I  believe  that  both 
must  perish  in  the  throes  of  some  convulsive  catastrophe 
if  all  the  life  of  the  nation  shall  continue  to  be  concen- 
trated in  the  brain,  and  the  great  reform  for  which  I 
call  is  not  made:  if  a  vast  system  of  local  franchise,  if 
provincial  institutions,  largely  independent  and  con- 
formable to  the  modern  spirit,  are  not  soon  established 
to  yield  fresh  blood  for  our  exhausted  veins,  and  to 
fertilize  our  impoverished  soil.  Undoubtedly  the  work 
will  be  difficult  and  complicated ;  it  will  demand  a  firm 
resolute  hand,  but  the  hand  that  may  accomplish  it 
will  have  achieved  the  most  patriotic  work  of  the  cen- 
tury. Tell  that  to  your  sovereign,  Monsieur  Sub-pre- 
fect; say  to  him  that  if  he  do  that,  there  is  one  old 
French  heart  that  will  bless  him.  Tell  him,  also,  that 
he  will  encounter  much  passion,  much  derision,  much 
danger,  peradventure ;  but  that  he  will  have  a  commen- 
surate recompense  when  he  shall  see  France,  like  Laza- 
rus, delivered  from  its  swathings  and  its  shroud,  rise 
again,  sound  and  whole,  to  salute  him!" 

These  last  words  the  old  gentleman  had  pronounced 
with  fire,  emotion,  and  extraordinary  dignity;  and  the 
silence  and  respect  with  which  he  had  been  listened  to 
were  prolonged  after  he  had  ceased  to  speak.  This 
appeared  to  embarrass  him,  but  taking  the  arm  of  Ca- 
mors  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "'Semel  insanivimus  omnes.' 
My  dear  sir,  every  one  has  his  madness.  I  trust  that 
mine  has  not  offended  you.  Well,  then,  prove  it  to  me 
by  accompanying  me  on  the  piano  in  this  song  of  the 
sixteenth  century." 

[121] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Camors  complied  with  his  usual  good  taste ;  and  the 
song  of  the  sixteenth  century  terminated  the  evening's 
entertainment;  but  the  young  Count,  before  leaving, 
found  the  means  of  causing  Madame  de  Tecle  the  most 
profound  astonishment.  He  asked  her,  in  a  low  voice, 
and  with  peculiar  emphasis,  whether  she  would  be  kind 
enough,  at  her  leisure,  to  grant  him  the  honor  of  a 
moment's  private  conversation. 

Madame  de  Tecle  opened  still  wider  those  large  eyes 
of  hers,  blushed  slightly,  and  replied  that  she  would  be 
at  home  the  next  afternoon  at  four  o'clock. 


f  132  J 


CHAPTER  IX 

LOVE   CONQUERS   PHILOSOPHY 

*O  M.  de  Camors,  in  principle  it  was  a 
matter  of  perfect  indifference  whether 
France  was  centralized  or  decentral- 
ized. But  his  Parisian  instinct  in- 
duced him  to  prefer  the  former.  In 
spite  of  this  preference,  he  would  not 
have  scrupled  to  adopt  the  opinions 
of  M.  des  Rameures,  had  not  his  own 
fine  tact  shown  him  that  the  proud  old  gentleman  was 
not  to  be  won  by  submission. 

He  therefore  reserved  for  him  the  triumph  of  his 
gradual  conversion.  Be  that  as  it  might,  it  was  neither 
of  centralization  nor  of  decentralization  that  the  young 
Count  proposed  to  speak  to  Madame  de  Tecle,  when, 
at  the  appointed  hour,  he  presented  himself  before  her. 
He  found  her  in  the  garden,  which,  like  the  house,  was 
of  an  ancient,  severe,  and  monastic  style.  A  terrace 
planted  with  lime-trees  extended  on  one  side  of  the  gar- 
den. It  was  at  this  spot  that  Madame  de  Tecle  was 
seated  under  a  group  of  lime-trees,  forming  a  rustic 
bower. 

She  was  fond  of  this  place,  because  it  recalled  to  her 
that  evening  when  her  unexpected  apparition  had  sud- 
denly inspired  with  a  celestial  joy  the  pale,  disfigured 
face  of  her  betrothed. 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

She  was  seated  on  a  low  chair  beside  a  small  rustic 
table,  covered  with  pieces  of  wool  and  silk;  her  feet 
rested  on  a  stool,  and  she  worked  on  a  piece  of  tapestry, 
apparently  with  great  tranquillity. 

M.  de  Camors,  an  expert  in  all  the  niceties  and  ex- 
quisite devices  of  the  feminine  mind,  smiled  to  himself 
at  this  audience  in  the  open  air.  He  thought  he  fath- 
omed its  meaning.  Madame  de  Tecle  desired  to  de- 
prive this  interview  of  the  confidential  character  which 
closed  doors  would  have  given  it. 

It  was  the  simple  truth.  This  young  woman,  who 
was  one  of  the  noblest  of  her  sex,  was  not  at  all  simple. 
She  had  not  passed  ten  years  of  her  youth,  her  beauty, 
and  her  widowhood  without  receiving,  under  forms 
more  or  less  direct,  dozens  of  declarations  that  had  in- 
spired her  with  impressions,  which,  although  just,  were 
not  always  too  flattering  to  the  delicacy  and  discretion 
of  the  opposite  sex.  Like  all  women  of  her  age,  she 
knew  her  danger,  and,  unlike  most  of  them,  she  did  not 
love  it.  She  had  invariably  turned  into  the  broad  road 
of  friendship  all  those  she  had  surprised  rambling 
within  the  prohibited  limits  of  love.  The  request  of  M. 
de  Camors  for  a  private  interview  had  seriously  preoc- 
cupied her  since  the  previous  evening.  What  could  be 
the  object  of  this  mysterious  interview?  She  puzzled 
her  brain  to  imagine,  but  could  not  divine. 

It  was  not  probable  that  M.  de  Camors,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  their  acquaintance,  would  feel  himself  enti- 
tled to  declare  a  passion.  However  vividly  the  famed 
gallantry  of  the  young  Count  rose  to  her  memory,  she 
thought  so  noted  a  lady-killer  as  he  might  adopt  urn 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

usual  methods,  and  might  think  himself  entitled  to  dis- 
pense with  much  ceremony  in  dealing  with  an  humble 
provincial. 

Animated  by  these  ideas,  she  resolved  to  receive  him 
in  the  garden,  having  remarked,  during  her  short 
experience,  that  open  air  and  a  wide,  open  space  were 
not  favorable  to  bold  wooers. 

M.  de  Camors  bowed  to  Madame  de  Tecle  as  an 
Englishman  would  have  bowed  to  his  queen;  then 
seating  himself,  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  hers,  mis- 
chievously perhaps,  and  lowering  his  voice  into  a 
confidential  tone,  said:  "Madame,  will  you  permit 
me  to  confide  a  secret  to  you,  and  to  ask  your 
counsel?" 

She  raised  her  graceful  head,  fixed  upon  the  Count 
her  soft,  bright  gaze,  smiled  vaguely,  and  by  a  slight 
movement  of  the  hand  intimated  to  him,  "You  surprise 
me;  but  I  will  listen  to  you." 

"This  is  my  first  secret,  Madame — I  desire  to  be- 
come deputy  for  this  district." 

At  this  unexpected  declaration,  Madame  de  Tecle 
looked  at  him,  breathed  a  slight  sigh  of  relief,  and 
£r.:\vly  awaited  what  he  had  to  say. 

'The  General  de  Campvallon,  Madame,"  continued 
th(  young  man,  "has  manifested  a  father's  kindness  to 
n  c.  He  intends  to  resign  in  my  favor,  and  has  not  con- 
cealed from  me  t  at  the  support  of  your  uncle  is  indis- 
pensable to  my  success  as  a  candidate.  I  have  there- 
fore come  here,  by  the  General's  advice,  in  the  hope  of 
obtaining  this  support,  but  the  ideas  and  opinions  ex- 
pressed yesterday  by  your  uncle  appear  to  me  so  directly 

[125] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

opposed  to  my  pretensions  that  I  feel  truly  discouraged. 
To  be  brief,  Madame,  in  my  perplexity  I  conceived  the 
idea — indiscreet  doubtless — to  appeal  to  your  kindness, 
and  ask  your  advice — which  I  am  determined  to  follow, 
whatever  it  may  be." 

"But,  Monsieur!  you  embarrass  me  greatly,"  said 
the  young  woman,  whose  pretty  face,  at  first  clouded, 
brightened  up  immediately  with  a  frank  smile. 

"I  have  no  special  claims  on  your  kindness — on  the 
contrary  perhaps — but  I  am  a  human  being,  and  you 
are  charitable.  Well,  in  truth,  Madame,  this  matter 
seriously  concerns  my  fortune,  my  future,  and  my 
whole  destiny.  This  opportunity  which  now  presents 
itself  for  me  to  enter  public  life  so  young  is  exceptional. 
I  should  regret  very  much  to  lose  it;  would  you  there- 
fore be  so  kind  as  to  aid  me  ?" 

"But  how  can  I?"  replied  Madame  de  Tecle.  "I 
never  interfere  in  politics,  and  that  is  precisely  what 
you  ask  me." 

"Nevertheless,  Madame,  I  pray  you  not  to  oppose 
me." 

"Why  should  I  oppose  you?" 

"Ah,  Madame!  You  have  a  right  more  than  any 
other  person  to  be  severe.  My  youth  was  a  little  dissi- 
pated. My  reputation,  in  some  respects,  is  not  over- 
good,  I  know,  and  I  doubt  not  you  may  have  heard 
so,  and  I  can  not  help  fearing  it  has  inspired  you  with 
some  dislike  to  me." 

"Monsieur,  we  lived  a  retired  life  here.  We  know 
nothing  of  what  passes  in  Paris.  If  we  did,  this  would 
not  prevent  my  assisting  you,  if  I  knew  how,  for  I  think 

[126] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

that  serious  and  elevated  lalx>rs  could  not  fail  happily 
to  change  your  ordinary  habits." 

"It  is  truly  a  delicious  thing,"  thought  the  young 
Count,  "to  mystify  so  spiritual  a  person." 

"Madame,"  he  continued,  with  his  quiet  grace,  "I 
join  in  your  hopes,  and  as  you  deign  to  encourage  my 
ambition,  I  believe  I  shall  succeed  in  obtaining  your 
uncle's  support.  You  know  him  well.  What  shall  I  do 
to  conciliate  him?  What  course  shall  I  adopt? — be- 
cause I  can  not  do  without  his  assistance.  Were  I  to 
renounce  that,  I  should  be  compelled  to  renounce  my 
projects." 

"It  is  truly  difficult,"  said  Madame  de  Tecle,  with 
a  reflective  air — "very  difficult!" 

"Is  it  not,  Madame?" 

Camors's  voice  expressed  such  confidence  and  sub- 
mission that  Madame  de  Tecle  was  quite  touched,  and 
even  the  devil  himself  would  have  been  charmed  by  it, 
had  he  heard  it  in  Gehenna. 

"Let  me  reflect  on  this  a  little,"  she  said,  and  she 
placed  her  elbows  on  the  table,  leaned  her  head  on  her 
hands,  her  fingers,  like  a  fan,  half  shading  her  eyes, 
while  sparks  of  fire  from  her  rings  glittered  in  the  sun- 
shine, and  her  ivory  nails  shone  against  her  smooth 
brow.  M.  de  Camors  continued  to  regard  her  with  the 
same  submissive  and  candid  air. 

"Well,  Monsieur,"  she  said  at  last,  smiling,  "I  think 
you  can  do  nothing  better  than  keep  on." 

"Pardon  me,  but  how?" 

"  By  persevering  in  the  same  system  you  have  already 
adopted  with  my  uncle!  Say  nothing  to  him  for  the 

[127] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

present.  Beg  the  General  also  to  be  silent.  Wait  qui- 
etly until  intimacy,  time,  and  your  own  good  qualities 
have  sufficiently  prepared  my  uncle  for  your  nomina- 
tion. My  role  is  very  simple.  I  cannot,  at  this  mo- 
ment, aid  you,  without  betraying  you.  My  assistance 
would  only  injure  you,  until  a  change  conies  in  the  as- 
pect of  affairs.  You  must  conciliate  him." 

"You  overpower  me,"  said  Camors,  "in  taking  you 
for  my  confidante  in  my  ambitious  projects,  I  have  com- 
mitted a  blunder  and  an  impertinence,  which  a  slight 
contempt  from  you  has  mildly  punished.  But  speaking 
seriously,  Madame,  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart.  I 
feared  to  find  in  you  a  powerful  enemy,  and  I  find  in 
you  a  strong  neutral,  almost  an  ally." 

"Oh!  altogether  an  ally,  however  secret,"  responded 
Madame  de  Tecle,  laughing.  "I  am  glad  to  be  useful 
to  you ;  as  I  love  General  Campvallon  very  much,  I  am 
happy  to  enter  into  his  views.  Come  here,  Marie?" 
These  last  words  were  addressed  to  her  daughter,  who 
appeared  on  the  steps  of  the  terrace,  her  cheeks  scarlet, 
and  her  hair  dishevelled,  holding  a  card  in  her  hand. 
She  immediately  approached  her  mother,  giving  M.  de 
Camors  one  of  those  awkward  salutations  peculiar  to 
young,  growing  girls. 

"Will  you  permit  me,"  said  Madame  de  Tecle,  "to 
give  to  my  daughter  a  few  orders  in  English,  which  we 
are  translating?  You  are  too  warm — do  not  run  any 
more.  Tell  Rosa  to  prepare  my  bodice  with  the  small 
buttons.  While  I  am  dressing,  you  may  say  your  cate- 
chism to  me." 

"Yes,  mother." 

[128] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"Have  you  written  your  exercise?" 

"Yes,  mother.  How  do  you  say  ljoW  in  English 
for  a  man?"  asked  the  little  girl. 

"Why?" 

"That  question  is  in  my  exercise,  to  be  said  of  a  man 
who  is  lbeau,  joli,  distingue." 

"Handsome,  nice,  and  charming,"  replied  her 
mother. 

"Very  well,  mother,  this  gentleman,  our  neighbor,  is 
altogether  handsome,  nice,  and  charming." 

"Silly  child!"  exclaimed  Madame  de  Tecle,  while  the 
little  girl  rushed  down  the  steps. 

M.  de  Camors,  who  had  listened  to  this  dialogue  with 
cool  calmness,  rose.  "I  thank  you  again,  Madame," 
he  said;  "and  will  you  now  excuse  me?  You  will 
allow  me,  from  time  to  time,  to  confide  in  you  my  po- 
litical hopes  and  fears?" 

"Certainly,  Monsieur." 

He  bowed  and  retired.  As  he  was  crossing  the  court- 
yard, he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  Mademoiselle 
Marie.  He  gave  her  a  most  respectful  bow.  "Another 
time,  Miss  Mary,  be  more  careful.  I  understand  Eng- 
lish perfectly  well!" 

Mademoiselle  Marie  remained  in  the  same  attitud' 
blushed  up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  and  cast  on  M.  c1 
Camors  a  startled  look  of  mingled  shame  and  anger. 

"You  are  not  satisfied,  Miss  Mary,"  continued  Qi 
mors. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  the  child,  quickly,  her  strong  voice 
somewhat  husky. 

M.   Camors  laughed,  bowed  again,  and  departed, 
9  [«ol 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

leaving  Mademoiselle  Marie  in  the  midst  of  the  court, 
transfixed  with  indignation. 

A  few  moments  later  Marie  threw  herself  into  the 
arms  of  her  mother,  weeping  bitterly,  and  told  her, 
through  her  tears,  of  her  cruel  mishap. 

Madame  de  Tecle,  in  using  this  opportunity  of  giving 
her  daughter  a  lesson  on  reserve  and  on  convenance, 
avoided  treating  the  matter  too  seriously  and  even 
seemed  to  laugh  heartily  at  it,  although  she  had  little 
inclination  to  do  so,  and  the  child  finished  by  laughing 
with  her. 

Camors,  meanwhile,  remained  at  home,  congratu- 
lating himself  on  his  campaign,  which  seemed  to  him, 
not  without  reason,  to  have  been  a  masterpiece  of  strat- 
agem. By  a  clever  mingling  of  frankness  and  cunning 
he  had  quickly  enlisted  Madame  de  Tecle  in  his  inter- 
est. From  that  moment  the  realization  of  his  ambitious 
dreams  seemed  assured,  for  he  was  not  ignorant  of  the 
incomparable  value  of  woman's  assistance,  and  knew 
all  the  power  of  that  secret  and  continued  labor,  of  those 
small  but  cumulative  efforts,  and  of  those  subterranean 
movements  which  assimilate  feminine  influence  with 
the  secret  and  irresistible  forces  of  nature.  Another 
point  gained — he  had  established  a  secret  between  that 
pretty  woman  and  himself,  and  had  placed  himself  on 
a  confidential  footing  with  her.  He  had  gained  the 
right  to  keep  secret  their  clandestine  words  and  private 
conversation,  and  such  a  situation,  cleverly  managed, 
might  aid  him  to  pass  very  agreeably  the  period  occu- 
pied in  his  political  canvass. 

Camors  on  entering  the  house  sat  down  to  write  the 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

General,  to  inform  him  of  the  opening  of  his  operations, 
and  admonish  him  to  have  patience.  From  that  day  he 
turned  his  attention  to  following  up  the  two  persons 
who  could  control  his  election. 

His  policy  as  regarded  M.  des  Rameures  was  as 
simple  as  it  was  clever.  It  has  already  been  clearly 
indicated,  and  further  details  would  be  unnecessary. 
Profiting  by  his  growing  familiarity  as  neighbor,  he 
went  to  school,  as  it  were,  at  the  model  farm  of  the 
gentleman-farmer,  and  submitted  to  him  the  direction 
of  his  own  domain.  By  this  quiet  compliment,  en- 
hanced by  his  captivating  courtesy,  he  advanced  insen- 
sibly in  the  good  graces  of  the  old  man.  But  every  day, 
as  he  grew  to  know  M.  de  Rameures  better,  and  as  he 
felt  more  the  strength  of  his  character,  he  began  to  fear 
that  on  essential  points  he  was  quite  inflexible. 

After  some  weeks  of  almost  daily  intercourse,  M.  des 
Rameures  graciously  praised  his  young  neighbor  as  a 
charming  fellow,  an  excellent  musician,  an  amiable 
associate;  but,  regarding  him  as  a  possible  deputy,  he 
saw  some  things  which  might  disqualify  him.  Madame 
de  Tecle  feared  this,  and  did  not  hide  it  from  M.  de 
Camors.  The  young  Count  did  not  preoccupy  himself 
so  much  on  this  subject  as  might  be  supposed,  for  his 
second  ambition  had  superseded  his  first ;  in  other  words 
his  fancy  for  Madame  de  Tecle  had  become  more  ar- 
dent and  more  pressing  than  his  desire  for  the  deputy- 
ship.  We  are  compelled  to  admit,  not  to  his  credit,  that 
he  first  proposed  to  himself  to  ensnare  his  charming 
neighbor  as  a  simple  pastime,  as  an  interesting  adven- 
ture, and,  above  all,  as  a  work  of  art,  which  was  extrcme- 


OCTAVE  FETJILLET 

ly  difficult  and  would  greatly  redound  to  his  honor. 
Although  he  had  met  few  women  of  her  merit,  he  judged 
her  correctly.  He  believed  Madame  de  Tecle  was  not 
virtuous  simply  from  force  of  habit  or  duty.  She  had 
passion.  She  was  not  a  prude,  but  was  chaste.  She 
was  not  a  devotee,  but  was  pious.  He  discerned  in  her 
at  the  same  time  a  spirit  elevated,  yet  not  narrow;  lofty 
and  dignified  sentiments,  and  deeply  rooted  principles; 
virtue  without  rigor,  pure  and  lambent  as  flame. 

Nevertheless  he  did  not  despair,  trusting  to  his  own 
principles,  to  the  fascinations  of  his  manner  and  his 
previous  successes.  Instinctively,  he  knew  that  the  or- 
dinary forms  of  gallantry  would  not  answer  with  her. 
All  his  art  was  to  surround  her  with  absolute  respect, 
and  to  leave  the  rest  to  time  and  to  the  growing  intimacy 
of  each  day. 

There  was  something  very  touching  to  Madame  de 
Tecle  in  the  reserved  and  timid  manner  of  this  mauvais 
sujet,  in  her  presence — the  homage  of  a  fallen  spirit,  as 
if  ashamed  of  being  such,  in  presence  of  a  spirit  of  light. 

Never,  either  in  public  or  when  tete-a-tete ,  was  there 
a  jest,  a  word,  or  a  look  which  the  most  sensitive  virtue 
could  fear. 

This  young  man,  ironical  with  all  the  rest  of  the 
world,  was  serious  with  her.  From  the  moment  he 
turned  toward  her,  his  voice,  face,  and  conversation 
became  as  serious  as  if  he  had  entered  a  church.  He 
had  a  great  deal  of  wit,  and  he  used  and  abused  it  be- 
yond measure  in  conversations  in  the  presence  of  Ma- 
dame de  Tecle,  as  if  he  were  making  a  display  of  fire- 
works in  her  honor.  But  on  coming  to  her  this  was 

[132] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

suddenly  extinguished,  and  he  became  all  submission 
and  respect. 

Not  every  woman  who  receives  from  a  superior  man 
such  delicate  flattery  as  this  necessarily  loves  him,  but 
she  does  like  him.  In  the  shadow  of  the  perfect  security 
in  which  M.  de  Camors  had  placed  her,  Madame  de 
Tecle  could  not  but  be  pleased  in  the  company  of  the 
most  distinguished  man  she  had  ever  met,  who  had,  like 
herself,  a  taste  for  art,  music,  and  for  high  culture. 

Thus  these  innocent  relations  with  a  young  man 
whose  reputation  was  rather  equivocal  could  not  but 
awaken  in  the  heart  of  Madame  de  Tecle  a  sentiment, 
or  rather  an  illusion,  which  the  most  prudish  could  not 
condemn. 

Libertines  offer  to  vulgar  women  an  attraction  which 
surprises,  but  which  springs  from  a  reprehensible  curi- 
osity. To  a  woman  of  society  they  offer  another,  more 
noble  yet  not  less  dangerous — the  attraction  of  reform- 
ing them.  It  is  rare  that  virtuous  women  do  not  fall 
into  the  error  of  believing  that  it  is  for  virtue's  sake  alone 
such  men  love  them.  These,  in  brief,  were  the  secret 
sympathies  whose  slight  tendrils  intertwined,  blossomed, 
and  flowered  little  by  little  in  this  soul,  as  tender  as  it 
was  pure. 

M.  de  Camors  had  vaguely  foreseen  all  this:  that 
which  he  had  not  foreseen  was  that  he  himself  would  be 
caught  in  his  own  snare,  and  would  be  sincere  in  the 
role  which  he  had  so  judiciously  adopted.  From  the 
first,  Madame  de  Tecle  had  captivated  him.  Her  very 
puritanism,  united  with  her  native  grace  and  worldly 
elegance,  composed  a  kind  of  daily  charm  which  piqued 

[i33] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

the  imagination  of  the  cold  young  man.  If  it  was  a  pow- 
erful temptation  for  the  angels  to  save  the  tempted,  the 
tempted  could  not  harbor  with  more  delight  the  thought 
of  destroying  the  angels.  They  dream,  like  the  reckless 
Epicureans  of  the  Bible,  of  mingling,  in  a  new  intoxica- 
tion, the  earth  with  heaven.  To  these  sombre  instincts 
of  depravity  were  soon  united  in  the  feelings  of  Camors 
a  sentiment  more  worthy  of  her.  Seeing  her  every  day 
with  that  childlike  intimacy  which  the  country  encour- 
ages— enhancing  the  graceful  movements  of  this  ac- 
complished person,  ever  self-possessed  and  equally  pre- 
pared for  duty  or  for  pleasure— as  animated  as  passion, 
yet  as  severe  as  virtue — he  conceived  for  her  a  genuine 
worship.  It  was  not  respect,  for  that  requires  the  effort 
of  believing  in  such  merits,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  be- 
lieve. He  thought  Madame  de  Tecle  was  born  so.  He 
admired  her  as  he  would  admire  a  rare  plant,  a  beauti- 
ful object,  an  exquisite  work,  in  which  nature  had  com- 
bined physical  and  moral  grace  with  perfect  proportion 
and  harmony.  His  deportment  as  her  slave  when  near 
her  was  not  long  a  mere  bit  of  acting.  Our  fair  readers 
have  doubtless  remarked  an  odd  fact:  that  where  a 
reciprocal  sentiment  of  two  feeble  human  beings  has 
reached  a  certain  point  of  maturity,  chance  never  fails 
to  furnish  a  fatal  occasion  which  betrays  the  secret  of 
the  two  hearts,  and  suddenly  launches  the  thunderbolt 
which  has  been  gradually  gathering  in  the  clouds. 
This  is  the  crisis  of  all  love.  This  occasion  presented 
itself  to  Madame  de  Tecle  and  M.  de  Camors  in  the 
form  of  an  unpoetic  incident. 

It  occurred  at  the  end  of  October.    Camors  had  gone 
I  i34j 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

out  after  dinner  to  take  a  ride  in  the  neighborhood. 
Night  had  already  fallen,  clear  and  cold;  but  as  the 
Count  could  not  see  Madame  de  Tecle  that  evening, 
he  began  only  to  think  of  being  near  her,  and  felt  that 
unwillingness  to  work  common  to  lovers — striving,  if 
possible,  to  kill  time,  which  hung  heavy  on  his  hands. 

He  hoped  also  that  violent  exercise  might  calm  his 
spirit,  which  never  had  been  more  profoundly  agitated. 
Still  young  and  unpractised  in  his  pitiless  system,  he 
was  troubled  at  the  thought  of  a  victim  so  pure  as  Ma- 
dame de  Tecle.  To  trample  on  the  life,  the  repose,  and 
the  heart  of  such  a  woman,  as  the  horse  tramples  on  the 
grass  of  the  road,  with  as  little  care  or  pity,  was  hard 
for  a  novice. 

Strange  as  it  may  appear,  the  idea  of  marrying  her 
had  occurred  to  him.  Then  he  said  to  himself  that  this 
weakness  was  in  direct  contradiction  to  his  principles, 
and  that  she  would  cause  him  to  lose  forever  his  mas- 
tery over  himself,  and  throw  him  back  into  the  nothing- 
ness of  his  past  life.  Yet  with  the  corrupt  inspirations 
of  his  depraved  soul  he  foresaw  that  the  moment  he 
touched  her  hands  with  the  lips  of  a  lover  a  new  senti- 
ment would  spring  up  in  her  soul.  As  he  abandoned 
himself  to  these  passionate  imaginings,  the  recollection 
of  young  Madame  Lescande  came  back  suddenly  to  his 
memory.  He  grew  pale  in  the  darkness.  At  this  mo- 
ment he  was  passing  the  edge  of  a  little  wood  belonging 
to  the  Comte  de  Tecle,  of  which  a  portion  had  recently 
been  cleared.  It  was  not  chance  alone  that  had  di- 
rected the  Count's  ride  to  this  point.  Madame  de  Tecle 
loved  this  spot,  and  had  frequently  taken  him  there, 

[i35] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

and  on  the  preceding  evening,  accompanied  by  her 
daughter  and  her  father-in-law,  had  visited  it  with 
him. 

The  site  was  a  peculiar  one.  Although  not  far  from 
houses,  the  wood  was  very  wild,  as  if  a  thousand  miles 
distant  from  any  inhabited  place. 

You  would  have  said  it  was  a  virgin  forest,  untouched 
by  the  axe  of  the  pioneer.  Enormous  stumps  without 
bark,  trunks  of  gigantic  trees,  covered  the  declivity  of 
the  hill,  and  barricaded,  here  and  there,  in  a  picturesque 
manner,  the  current  of  the  brook  which  ran  into  the 
valley.  A  little  farther  up  the  dense  wood  of  tufted 
trees  contributed  to  diffuse  that  religious  light  half  over 
the  rocks,  the  brushwood  and  the  fertile  soil,  and  on  the 
limpid  water,  which  is  at  once  the  charm  and  the  horror 
of  old  neglected  woods.  In  this  solitude,  and  on  a  space 
of  cleared  ground,  rose  a  sort  of  rude  hut,  constructed 
by  a  poor  devil  who  was  a  sabot-maker  by  trade,  and 
who  had  been  allowed  to  establish  himself  there  by  the 
Comte  de  Tecle,  and  to  use  the  beech-trees  to  gain  his 
humble  living.  This  Bohemian  interested  Madame  de 
Tecle,  probably  because,  like  M.  de  Camors,  he  had  a 
bad  reputation.  He  lived  in  his  cabin  with  a  woman 
who  was  still  pretty  under  her  rags,  and  with  two  little 
boys  with  golden  curls. 

He  was  a  stranger  in  the  neighborhood,  and  the 
woman  was  said  not  to  be  his  wife.  He  was  very  taci- 
turn, and  his  features  seemed  fine  and  determined  un- 
der his  thick,  black  beard. 

Madame  de  Tecle  amused  herself  seeing  him  make 
his  sabots.  She  loved  the  children,  who,  though  dirty, 

[136] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

were  beautiful  as  angels;  and  she  pitied  the  woman. 
She  had  a  secret  project  to  marry  her  to  the  man,  in  case 
she  had  not  yet  been  married,  which  seemed  probable. 

Camors  walked  his  horse  slowly  over  the  rocky  and 
winding  path  on  the  slope  of  the  hillock.  This  was  the 
moment  when  the  ghost  of  Madame  Lescande  had 
risen  before  him,  and  he  believed  he  could  almost  hear 
her  weep.  Suddenly  this  illusion  gave  place  to  a  strange 
reality.  The  voice  of  a  woman  plainly  called  him  by 
name,  in  accents  of  distress — "Monsieur  de  Camors!" 

Stopping  his  horse  on  the  instant,  he  felt  an  icy  shud- 
der pass  through  his  frame.  The  same  voice  rose 
higher  and  called  him  again.  He  recognized  it  as  the 
voice  of  Madame  de  Tecle.  Looking  around  him  in  the 
obscure  light  with  a  rapid  glance,  he  saw  a  light  shining 
through  the  foliage  in  the  direction  of  the  cottage  of  the 
sabot-maker.  Guided  by  this,  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse, 
crossed  the  cleared  ground  up  the  hillside,  and  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  Madame  de  Tecle.  She  was 
standing  at  the  threshold  of  the  hut,  her  head  bare,  and 
her  beautiful  hair  dishevelled  under  a  long,  black  lace 
veil.  She  was  giving  a  servant  some  hasty  orders. 
When  she  saw  Camors  approach,  she  came  toward  him. 

"Pardon  me,"  she  said,  "but  I  thought  I  recognized 
you,  and  I  called  you.  I  am  so  much  distressed — so 
distressed!  The  two  children  of  this  man  are  dying!— 
What  is  to  be  done?  Come  in — come  in,  I  beg  of 
you!" 

He  leaped  to  the  ground,  threw  the  reins  to  his  ser- 
vant, and  followed  Madame  de  Tecle  into  the  interior 
of  the  cabin. 

[i37] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

The  two  children  with  the  golden  hair  were  lying 
side  by  side  on  a  little  bed,  immovable,  rigid,  their  eyes 
open  and  the  pupils  strangely  dilated — their  faces  red, 
and  agitated  by  slight  convulsions.  They  seemed  to  be 
in  the  agony  of  death.  The  old  doctor,  Du  Rocher, 
was  leaning  over  them,  looking  at  them  with  a  fixed, 
anxious,  and  despairing  eye.  The  mother  was  on  her 
knees,  her  head  clasped  in  her  hands,  and  weeping  bit- 
terly. At  the  foot  of  the  bed  stood  the  father,  with  his 
savage  mien — his  arms  crossed,  and  his  eyes  dry.  He 
shuddered  at  intervals,  and  murmured,  in  a  hoarse, 
hollow  voice:  "Both  of  them!  Both  of  them!"  Then 
he  relapsed  into  his  mournful  attitude.  M.  Durocher, 
approached  Camors  quickly.  "Monsieur,"  said  he, 
"  what  can  this  be  ?  I  believe  it  to  be  poisoning,  but  can 
detect  no  definite  symptoms:  otherwise,  the  parents 
should  know — but  they  know  nothing!  A  sunstroke, 
perhaps;  but  as  both  were  struck  at  the  same  time— 
and  then  at  this  season — ah!  our  profession  is  quite 
useless  sometimes." 

Camors  made  rapid  inquiries.  They  had  sought  M. 
Durocher,  who  was  dining  with  Madame  de  Tecle  an 
hour  before.  He  had  hastened,  and  found  the  children 
already  speechless,  in  a  state  of  fearful  congestion.  It 
appeared  they  had  fallen  into  this  state  when  first  at- 
tacked, and  had  become  delirious. 

Camors  conceived  an  idea.  He  asked  to  see  the 
clothes  the  children  had  worn  during  the  day.  The 
mother  gave  them  to  him.  He  examined  them  with 
care,  and  pointed  out  to  the  doctor  several  red  stains 
on  the  poor  rags.  The  doctor  touched  his  forehead, 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

and  turned  over  with  a  feverish  hand  the  small  linen— 
the  rough  waistcoat — searched  the  pockets,  and  found 
dozens  of  a  small  fruit-like  cherries,  half  crushed. 
"Belladonna!"  he  exclaimed.  "That  idea  struck  me 
several  times,  but  how  could  I  be  sure  ?  You  can  not 
find  it  within  twenty  miles  of  this  place,  except  in  this 
cursed  wood — of  that  I  am  sure." 

"Do  you  think  there  is  yet  time?"  asked  the  young 
Count,  in  a  low  voice.  "The  children  seem  to  me  to  be 
very  ill." 

"Lost,  I  fear;  but  everything  depends  on  the  time 
that  has  passed,  the  quantity  they  have  taken,  and  the 
remedies  I  can  procure." 

The  old  man  consulted  quickly  with  Madame  de 
Tecle,  who  found  she  had  not  in  her  country  phar- 
macy the  necessary  remedies,  or  counter-irritants,  which 
the  urgency  of  the  case  demanded.  The  doctor  was 
obliged  to  content  himself  with  the  essence  of  coffee, 
which  the  servant  was  ordered  to  prepare  in  haste,  and 
to  send  to  the  village  for  the  other  things  needed. 

"To  the  village!"  cried  Madame  de  Tecle.  "Good 
heavens!  it  is  four  leagues — it  is  night,  and  we  shall 
have  to  wait  probably  three  or  four  hours!" 

Camors  heard  this: "  Doctor,  write  your  prescription," 
he  said:  "Trilby  is  at  the  door,  and  with  him  I  can  do 
the  four  leagues  in  an  hour — in  one  hour  I  promise  to 
return  here." 

"  Oh !  thank  you,  Monsieur ! "  said  Madame  de  Tecle. 

He  took  the  prescription  v.  hich  Dr.  Durocher  had 
rapidly  traced  on  a  leaf  of  his  pocketbook,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  departed. 

['39 1 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

The  highroad  was  fortunately  not  far  distant.  When 
he  reached  it  he  rode  like  the  phantom  horseman. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  Madame  de  Tecle  witnessed 
his  departure — it  was  a  few  moments  after  ten  when 
she  heard  the  tramp  of  his  horse  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
and  ran  to  the  door  of  the  hut.  The  condition  of  the 
two  children  seemed  to  have  grown  worse  in  the  inter- 
val, but  the  old  doctor  had  great  hopes  in  the  remedies 
which  Camors  was  to  bring.  She  waited  with  impa- 
tience, and  received  him  like  the  dawn  of  the  last  hope. 
She  contented  herself  with  pressing  his  hand,  when, 
breathless,  he  descended  from  his  horse.  But  this  ador- 
able creature  threw  herself  on  Trilby,  who  was  covered 
with  foam  and  steaming  like  a  furnace. 

"Poor  Trilby,"  she  said,  embracing  him  in  her  two 
arms — "dear  Trilby — good  Trilby!  you  are  half  dead, 
are  you  not?  But  I  love  you  well.  Go  quickly,  Mon- 
sieur de  Camors,  I  will  attend  to  Trilby" — and  while 
the  young  man  entered  the  cabin,  she  confided  Trilby 
to  the  charge  of  her  servant,  with  orders  to  take  him 
to  the  stable,  and  a  thousand  minute  directions  to  take 
good  care  of  him  after  his  noble  conduct.  Dr.  Du- 
rocher  had  to  obtain  the  aid  of  Camors  to  pass  the  new 
medicine  through  the  clenched  teeth  of  the  unfortunate 
children.  While  both  were  engaged  in  this  work,  Ma- 
dame de  Tecle  was  sitting  on  a  stool  with  her  head  rest- 
ing against  the  cabin  wall.  Durocher  suddenly  raised 
his  eyes  and  fixed  them  on  her. 

"My  dear  Madame,"  he  said,  "you  are  ill.  You 
have  had  too  much  excitement,  and  the  odors  here  are 
insupportable.  You  must  go  home." 

[140] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"I  really  do  not  feel  very  well,"  she  murmured. 

"You  must  go  at  once.  We  shall  send  you  the  news. 
One  of  your  servants  will  take  you  home." 

She  raised  herself,  trembling;  but  one  look  from  the 
young  wife  of  the  sabot-maker  arrested  her.  To  this 
poor  woman,  it  seemed  that  Providence  deserted  her 
with  Madame  de  Tecle. 

"No!"  she  said  with  a  divine  sweetness;  "I  will  not 
go.  I  shall  only  breathe  a  little  fresh  air.  I  will  remain 
until  they  are  safe,  I  promise  you ; "  and  she  left  the  room 
smiling  upon  the  poor  woman.  After  a  few  minutes, 
Durocher  said  to  M.  de  Camors: 

"My  dear  sir,  I  thank  you — but  I  really  have  no  fur- 
ther need  of  your  services;  so  you  too  may  go  and  rest 
yourself,  for  you  also  are  growing  pale." 

Camors,  exhausted  by  his  long  ride,  felt  suffocated 
by  the  atmosphere  of  the  hut,  and  consented  to  the 
suggestion  of  the  old  man,  saying  that  he  would  not 
go  far. 

As  he  put  his  foot  outside  of  the  cottage,  Madame  de 
Tecle,  who  was  sitting  before  the  door,  quickly  rose  and 
threw  over  his  shoulders  a  cloak  which  they  had  brought 
for  her.  She  then  reseated  herself  without  speaking. 

"But  you  can  not  remain  here  all  night,"  he  said. 

"I  should  be  too  uneasy  at  home." 

"But  the  night  is  very  cold — shall  I  make  you  a 
fire?" 

"If  you  wish,"  she  said. 

"Let  us  see  where  we  can  make  this  little  fire.  In 
the  midst  of  this  wood  it  is  impossible — we  should  have 
a  conflagration  to  finish  the  picture.  Can  you  walk? 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Then  take  my  arm,  and  we  shall  go  and  search  for  a 
place  for  our  encampment." 

She  leaned  lightly  on  his  arm,  and  took  a  few  steps 
with  him  toward  the  forest. 

"Do  you  think  they  are  saved?"  she  asked. 

"I  hope  so,"  he  replied.  "The  face  of  Doctor 
Durocher  is  more  cheerful." 

"Oh!  how  glad  I  am!" 

Both  of  them  stumbled  over  a  root,  and  laughed  like 
two  children  for  several  minutes. 

"We  shall  soon  be  in  the  woods,"  said  Madame  de 
Tecle — "and  I  declare  I  can  go  no  farther:  good  or 
bad,  I  choose  this  spot." 

They  were  still  quite  close  to  the  hut,  but  the  branches 
of  the  old  trees  which  had  been  spared  by  the  axe  spread 
like  a  sombre  dome  over  their  heads.  Near  by  was  a 
large  rock,  slightly  covered  with  moss,  and  a  number  of 
old  trunks  of  trees,  on  which  Madame  de  Tecle  took 
her  seat. 

"Nothing  could  be  better,"  said  Camors,  gayly.  "I 
must  collect  my  materials." 

A  moment  after  he  reappeared,  bringing  in  his  arms 
brushwood,  and  also  a  travelling-rug  which  his  servant 
had  brought  him. 

He  got  on  his  knees  in  front  of  the  rock,  prepared  the 
fagots,  and  lighted  them  with  a  match.  When  the 
flame  began  to  flicker  on  the  rustic  hearth  Madame  de 
Tecle  trembled  with  joy,  and  held  out  both  hands  to 
the  blaze. 

"Ah!  how  nice  that  is!"  she  said;  "and  then  it  is  so 
amusing;  one  would  say  we  had  been  shipwrecked. 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

Now,  Monsieur,  if  you  would  l)e  perfect  go  and  see 
what  Durocher  reports." 

He  ran  to  the  hut.  When  he  returned  he  could  not 
avoid  stopping  half  way  to  admire  the  elegant  and 
simple  silhouette  of  the  young  woman,  defined  sharply 
against  the  blackness  of  the  wood,  her  fine  countenance 
slightly  illuminated  by  the  firelight.  The  moment  she 
saw  him— 

"Well!  "she  cried. 

"A  great  deal  of  hope." 

"Oh!  what  happiness,  Monsieur!"  She  pressed  his 
hand. 

"Sit  down  there,"  she  said. 

He  sat  down  on  a  rock  contiguous  to  hers,  and  replied 
to  her  eager  questions.  He  repeated,  in  detail,  his  con- 
versation with  the  doctor,  and  explained  at  length 
the  properties  of  belladonna.  She  listened  at  first  with 
interest,  but  little  by  little,  with  her  head  wrapped  in 
her  veil  and  resting  on  the  boughs  interlaced  behind 
her,  she  seemed  to  be  uncomfortably  resting  from 
fatigue. 

"You  are  likely  to  fall  asleep  there,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing. 

' '  Perhaps ! "  she  murmured — smiled ,  and  went  to  sleep. 

Her  sleep  resembled  death,  it  was  so  profound,  and 
so  calm  was  the  beating  of  her  heart,  so  light  her  breath- 
ing. 

Camors  knelt  down  again  by  the  fire,  to  listen  breath- 
lessly and  to  gaze  upon  her.  From  time  to  time  he 
seemed  to  meditate,  and  the  solitude  was  disturbed 
only  by  the  rustling  of  the  leaves.  His  eyes  followed  the 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

flickering  of  the  flame,  sometimes  resting  on  the  v;hite 
cheek,  sometimes  on  the  grove,  sometimes  on  the  arches 
of  the  high  trees,  as  if  he  wished  to  fix  in  his  memory  all 
the  details  of  this  sweet  scene.  Then  his  gaze  rested 
again  on  the  young  woman,  clothed  in  her  beauty, 
grace,  and  confiding  repose. 

What  heavenly  thoughts  descended  at  that  moment 
on  this  sombre  soul — what  hesitation,  what  doubt 
assailed  it!  What  images  of  peace,  truth,  virtue,  and 
happiness  passed  into  that  brain  full  of  storm,  and 
chased  away  the  phantoms  of  the  sophistries  he  cher- 
ished! He  himself  knew,  but  never  told. 

The  brisk  crackling  of  the  wood  awakened  her.  She 
opened  her  eyes  in  surprise,  and  as  soon  as  she  saw  the 
young  man  kneeling  before  her,  addressed  him— 

"How  are  they  now,  Monsieur?" 

He  did  not  know  how  to  tell  her  that  for  the  last  hour 
he  had  had  but  one  thought,  and  that  was  of  her.  Du- 
rocher  appeared  suddenly  before  them. 

"They  are  saved,  Madame,"  said  the  old  man, 
brusquely;  "come  quickly,  embrace  them,  and  return 
home,  or  we  shall  have  to  treat  you  to-morrow.  You 
are  very  imprudent  to  have  remained  in  this  damp 
wood,  and  it  was  absurd  of  Monsieur  to  let  you  do  so." 

She  took  the  arm  of  the  old  doctor,  smiling,  and  reen- 
tered  the  hut.  The  two  children,  now  roused  from  the 
dangerous  torpor,  but  who  seemed  still  terrified  by  the 
threatened  death,  raised  their  little  round  heads.  She 
made  them  a  sign  to  keep  quiet,  and  leaned  over  their 
pillow  smiling  upon  them,  and  imprinted  two  kisses  on 
their  golden  curls. 

[J44] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"To-morrow,  my  angels,"  she  said.  But  the  mother, 
half  laughing,  half  crying,  followed  Madame  de  Tecle 
step  by  step,  speaking  to  her,  and  kissing  her  gar- 
ments. 

"Let  her  alone,"  cried  the  old  doctor,  querulously. 
"Go  home,  Madame.  Monsieur  de  Camors,  take  her 
home." 

She  was  going  out,  when  the  man,  who  had  not  be- 
fore spoken,  and  who  was  sitting  in  the  corner  of  his 
hut  as  if  stupefied,  rose  suddenly,  seized  the  arm  of 
Madame  de  Tecle,  who,  slightly  terrified,  turned 
round,  for  the  gesture  of  the  man  was  so  violent  as  to 
seem  menacing;  his  eyes,  hard  and  dry,  were  fixed 
upon  her,  and  he  continued  to  press  her  arm  with  a 
contracted  hand. 

"My  friend!"  she  said,  although  rather  uncertain. 

"Yes,  your  friend,"  muttered  the  man  with  a  hol- 
low voice ;  ' '  yes,  your  friend . ' ' 

He  could  not  continue,  his  mouth  worked  as  if  in 
a  convulsion,  suppressed  weeping  shook  his  frame; 
he  then  threw  himself  on  his  knees,  and  they  saw  a 
shower  of  tears  force  themselves  through  the  hands 
clasped  over  his  face. 

"Take  her  away,  Monsieur,"  said  the  old  doctor. 

Camors  gently  pushed  her  out  of  the  hut  and  fol- 
lowed her.  She  took  his  arm  and  descended  the  rugged 
path  which  led  to  her  home. 

It  was  a  walk  of  twenty  minutes  from  the  wood. 
Half  the  distance  was  passed  without  interchanging 
a  word.  Once  or  twice,  when  the  rays  of  the  moon 
pierced  through  the  clouds,  Camors  thought  he  saw 


OCTAVE  FETTILLET 

her  wipe  away  a  tear  with  the  end  of  her  glove.  He 
guided  her  cautiously  in  the  darkness,  although  the 
light  step  of  the  young  woman  was  little  slower  in  the 
obscurity.  Her  springy  step  pressed  noiselessly  the 
fallen  leaves — avoided  without  assistance  the  ruts  and 
marshes,  as  if  she  had  been  endowed  with  a  magical 
clairvoyance.  When  they  reached  a  crossroad,  and 
Camors  seemed  uncertain,  she  indicated  the  way  by 
a  slight  pressure  of  the  arm.  Both  were  no  doubt  em- 
barrassed by  the  long  silence — it  was  Madame  de  Tecle 
who  first  broke  it. 

"You  have  been  very  good  this  evening,  Mon- 
sieur," she  said  in  a  low  and  slightly  agitated  voice. 

"I  love  you  so  much!"  said  the  young  man. 

He  pronounced  these  simple  words  in  such  a  deep 
impassioned  tone  that  Madame  de  Tecle  trembled 
and  stood  still  in  the  road. 

"Monsieur  de  Camors!" 

"What,  Madame?"  he  demanded,  in  a  strange 
tone. 

"Heavens! — in  fact — nothing!"  said  she,  "for  this 
is  a  declaration  of  friendship,  I  suppose — and  your 
friendship  gives  me  much  pleasure." 

He  let  go  her  arm  at  once,  and  in  a  hoarse  and 
angry  voice  said — "I  am  not  your  friend!" 

"What  are  you  then,  Monsieur?" 

Her  voice  was  calm,  but  she  recoiled  a  few  steps,  and 
leaned  against  one  of  the  trees  which  bordered  the 
road.  The  explosion  so  long  pent  up  burst  forth,  and 
a  flood  of  words  poured  from  the  young  man's  lips  with 
inexpressible  impetuosity. 

[146] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"What  I  am  I  know  not!  I  no  longer  know  Whether 
I  am  myself — if  I  am  dead  or  alive — if  I  am  good  or 
bad — whether  I  am  dreaming  or  waking.  Oh,  Ma- 
dame, what  I  wish  is  that  the  day  may  never  rise  again 
—that  this  night  would  never  finish — that  I  should 
wish  to  feel  always — always — in  my  head,  my  heart,  my 
entire  being — that  which  I  now  feel,  near  you — of  you 
—for  you!  I  should  wish  to  be  stricken  with  some 
sudden  illness,  without  hope,  in  order  to  be  watched 
and  wept  for  by  you,  like  those  children — and  to  be 
embalmed  in  your  tears;  and  to  see  you  bowed  down 
in  terror  before  me  is  horrible  to  me!  By  the  name  of 
your  God,  whom  you  have  made  me  respect,  I  swear 
you  are  sacred  to  me — the  child  in  the  arms  of  its 
mother  is  not  more  so!" 

"I  have  no  fear,"  she  murmured. 

"Oh,  no! — have  no  fear!"  he  repeated  in  a  tone  of 
voice  infinitely  softened  and  tender.  "It  is  I  who  am 
afraid — it  is  I  who  tremble— you  see  it;  for  since  I 
have  spoken,  all  is  finished.  I  expect  nothing  more— 
I  hope  for  nothing — this  night  has  no  possible  to- 
morrow. I  know  it.  Your  husband  I  dare  not  be— 
your  lover  I  should  not  wish  to  be.  I  ask  nothing  of 
you — understand  well!  I  should  like  to  burn  my  heart 
at  your  feet,  as  on  an  altar — this  is  all.  Do  you  be- 
lieve me?  Answer!  Are  you  tranquil?  Are  you  con- 
fident ?  Will  you  hear  me  ?  May  I  tell  you  what  image 
I  carry  of  you  in  the  secret  recesses  of  my  heart  ?  Dear 
creature  that  you  are,  you  do  not — ah,  you  do  not  know 
how  great  is  your  worth;  and  I  fear  to  tell  you,  so  much 
am  1  afraid  of  stripping  you  of  your  charms,  or  of  one 

' 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

of  your  virtues.  If  you  had  been  proud  of  yourself,  as 
you  have  a  right  to  be,  you  would  be  less  perfect,  and 
I  should  love  you  less.  But  I  wish  to  tell  you  how 
lovable  and  how  charming  you  are.  You  alon:  do  not 
know  it.  You  alone  do  not  see  the  soft  flame  of  your 
large  eyes — the  reflection  of  your  heroic  soul  on  your 
young  but  serene  brow.  Your  charm  is  over  everything 
you  do — your  slightest  gesture  is  engraven  on  my  heart. 
Into  the  most  ordinary  duties  of  every-day  life  you 
carry  a  peculiar  grace,  like  a  young  priestess  who  recites 
her  daily  devotions.  Your  hand,  your  touch,  your 
breath  purifies  everything — even  the  most  humble  and 
the  most  wicked  beings — and  myself  first  of  all ! 

"I  am  astonished  at  the  words  which  I  dare  to  pro- 
nounce, and  the  sentiments  which  animate  me,  to 
whom  you  have  made  clear  new  truths.  Yes,  all  the 
rhapsodies  of  the  poets,  all  the  loves  of  the  martyrs,  I 
comprehend  in  your  presence.  This  is  truth  itself. 
I  understand  those  who  died  for  their  faith  by  the  tor- 
ture— because  I  should  like  to  suffer  for  you — because 
I  believe  in  you — because  I  respect  you — I  cherish  you 
—I  adore  you!" 

He  stopped,  shivering,  and  half  prostrating  himself 
before  her,  seized  the  end  of  her  veil  and  kissed  it. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  with  a  kind  of  grave  sadness, 
"go,  Madame,  I  have  forgotten  too  long  that  you  re- 
quire repose.  Pardon  me — proceed.  I  shall  follow 
you  at  a  distance,  until  you  reach  your  home,  to  pro- 
tect you — but  fear  nothing  from  me." 

Madame  de  Tecle  had  listened,  without  once  inter- 
rupting him  even  by  a  sigh.  Words  would  only  excite 

[148] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  young  man  more.  Probably  she  understood,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  one  of  those  songs  of  love- 
one  of  those  hymns  alive  with  passion,  which  every 
woman  wishes  to  hear  before  she  dies.  Should  she  die 
because  she  had  heard  it?  She  remained  without 
speaking,  as  if  just  awakening  from  a  dream,  and  said 
quite  simply,  in  a  voice  as  soft  and  feeble  as  a  sigh, 
"My  God!"  After  another  pause  she  advanced  a  few 
steps  on  the  road. 

"Give  me  your  arm  as  far  as  my  house,  Monsieur," 
she  said. 

He  obeyed  her,  and  they  continued  their  walk  toward 
the  house,  the  lights  of  which  they  soon  saw.  They 
did  not  exchange  a  word — only  as  they  reached  the  gate, 
Madame  de  Tecle  turned  and  made  him  a  slight  ges- 
ture with  her  hand,  in  sign  of  adieu.  In  return,  M.  de 
Camors  bowed  low,  and  withdrew. 


[J49] 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  PROLOGUE  TO  THE  TRAGEDY 


Comte  de  Camors  had  been  sin- 
cere. When  true  passion  surprises 
the  human  soul,  it  breaks  down  all 
resolves,  sweeps  away  all  logic,  and 
crushes  all  calculations. 

In  this  lies  its  grandeur,  and  also 
its  danger.  It  suddenly  seizes  on 
you,  as  the  ancient  god  inspired  the 
priestess  on  her  tripod  —  speaks  through  your  lips,  utters 
words  you  hardly  comprehend,  falsifies  your  thoughts, 
confounds  your  reason,  and  betrays  your  secrets. 
When  this  sublime  madness  possesses  you,  it  elevates 
you  —  it  transfigures  you.  It  can  suddenly  convert  a 
common  man  into  a  poet,  a  coward  into  a  hero,  an 
egotist  into  a  martyr,  and  Don  Juan  himself  into  an 
angel  of  purity. 

With  women  —  and  it  is  to  their  honor  —  this  meta- 
morphosis can  be  durable,  but  it  is  rarely  so  with  men. 
Once  transported  to  this  stormy  sky,  women  frankly 
accept  it  as  their  proper  home,  and  the  vicinity  of  the 
thunder  does  not  disquiet  them. 

Passion  is  their  clement—  they  feel  at  home  there. 
There  are  few  women  worthy  of  the  name  who  are  not 
ready  to  put  in  action  all  the  words  which  passion  has 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

caused  to  bubble  from  their  lips.  If  they  speak  of 
flight,  they  are  ready  for  exile.  If  they  talk  of  dying, 
they  are  ready  for  death.  Men  are  far  less  consistent 
with  their  ideas. 

It  was  not  until  late  the  next  morning  that  Camors 
regretted  his  outbreak  of  sincerity;  for,  during  the  re- 
mainder of  the  night,  still  rilled  with  his  excitement,  agi- 
tated and  shaken  by  the  passage  of  the  god,  sunk  into 
a  confused  and  feverish  reverie,  he  was  incapable  of 
reflection.  But  when,  on  awakening,  he  surveyed  the 
situation  calmly  and  by  the  plain  light  of  day,  and 
thought  over  the  preceding  evening  and  its  events,  he 
could  not  fail  to  recognize  the  fact  that  he  had  been 
cruelly  duped  by  his  own  nervous  system.  To  love 
Madame  de  Tecle  was  perfectly  proper,  and  he  loved 
her  still — for  she  was  a  person  to  be  loved  and  desired 
—but  to  elevate  that  love  or  any  other  as  the  master  of 
his  life,  instead  of  its  plaything,  was  one  of  those  weak- 
nesses interdicted  by  his  system  more  than  any  other. 
In  fact,  he  felt  that  he  had  spoken  and  acted  like  a 
school-boy  on  a  holiday.  He  had  uttered  words,  made 
promises,  and  taken  engagements  on  himself  which  no 
one  demanded  of  him.  No  conduct  could  have  been 
more  ridiculous.  Happily,  nothing  was  lost.  He  had 
yet  time  to  give  his  love  that  subordinate  place  which 
this  sort  of  fantasy  should  occupy  in  the  life  of  man. 
He  had  been  imprudent;  but  this  very  imprudence 
might  finally  prove  of  service  to  him.  All  that  re- 
mained of  this  scene  was  a  declaration — gracefully 
made,  spontaneous,  natural — which  subjected  Madame 
de  Tecle  to  the  double  charm  of  a  mystic  idolatry  which 

[ISO 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

pleased  her  sex,  and  to  a  manly  ardor  which  could  not 
displease  her. 

He  had,  therefore,  nothing  to  regret — although  he 
certainly  would  have  preferred,  from  the  point  of  view 
of  his  principles,  to  have  displayed  a  somewhat  less 
childish  weakness. 

But  what  course  should  he  now  adopt?  Nothing 
could  be  more  simple.  He  would  go  to  Madame  de 
Tecle — implore  her  forgiveness — throw  himself  again  at 
her  feet,  promising  eternal  respect,  and  succeed.  Con- 
sequently, about  ten  o'clock,  M.  de  Camors  wrote  the 
following  note: 

"MADAME: 

"I  can  not  leave  without  bidding  you  adieu,  and  once  more 
demanding  your  forgiveness. 
"Will  you  permit  me? 

"CAMORS." 

This  letter  he  was  about  despatching,  when  he  re- 
ceived one  containing  the  following  words: 

"  I  shall  be  happy,  Monsieur,  if  you  will  call  upon  me  to-day, 
about  four  o'clock. 

"£LISE  DE  TECLE." 

Upon  whicri  M.  de  Camors  threw  his  own  note  in  the 
fire,  as  entirely  superfluous. 

No  matter  what  interpretation  he  put  upon  this  note, 
it  was  an  evident  sign  that  love  had  triumphed  and  that 
virtue  was  defeated;  for,  after  what  had  passed  the 
previous  evening  between  Madame  de  Tecle  and  him- 
self, there  was  only  one  course  for  a  virtuous  woman  to 
take ;  and  that  was  never  to  see  him  again.  To  see  him 

[152] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

was  to  pardon  him;  to  pardon  him  was  to  surrender 
herself  to  him,  with  or  without  circumlocution.  Ca- 
mors  did  not  allow  himself  to  deplore  any  further  an 
adventure  which  had  so  suddenly  lost  its  gravity.  He 
soliloquized  on  the  weakness  of  women.  He  thought  it 
bad  taste  in  Madame  de  Tecle  not  to  have  maintained 
longer  the  high  ideal  his  innocence  had  created  for  her. 
Anticipating  the  disenchantment  which  follows  posses- 
sion, he  already  saw  her  deprived  of  all  her  prestige, 
and  ticketed  in  the  museum  of  his  amorous  souvenirs. 

Nevertheless,  when  he  approached  her  house,  and 
had  the  feeling  of  her  near  presence,  he  was  troubled. 
Doubt  and  anxiety  assailed  him.  When  he  saw  through 
the  trees  the  window  of  her  room,  his  heart  throbbed  so 
violently  that  he  had  to  sit  down  on  the  root  of  a  tree  for 
a  moment. 

"I  love  her  like  a  madman!"  he  murmured;  then 
leaping  up  suddenly  he  exclaimed,  "But  she  is  only  a 
woman,  after  all — I  shall  go  on!" 

For  the  first  time  Madame  de  Tecle  received  him  in 
her  own  apartment.  This  room  M.  de  Gamers  had 
never  seen.  It  was  a  large  and  lofty  apartment,  draped 
and  furnished  in  sombre  tints. 

It  contained  gilded  mirrors,  bronzes,  engravings,  and 
old  family  jewelry  lying  on  tables — the  whole  present- 
ing the  appearance  of  the  ornamentation  of  a  church. 

In  this  severe  and  almost  religious  interior,  however 
rich,  reigned  a  vague  odor  of  flowers;  and  there  were 
also  to  be  seen  boxes  of  lace,  drawers  of  perfumed  linen, 
and  that  dainty  atmosphere  which  ever  accompanies 
refined  women. 

[153] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

'But  every  one  has  her  personal  individuality,  and 
forms  her  own  atmosphere  which  fascinates  her  lover. 
Madame  de  Tecle,  finding  herself  almost  lost  in  this 
very  large  room,  had  so  arranged  some  pieces  of  fur- 
niture as  to  make  herself  a  little  private  nook  near  the 
chimneypiece,  which  her  daughter  called,  "My  mother's 
chapel."  It  was  there  Camors  now  perceived  her,  by 
the  soft  light  of  a  lamp,  sitting  in  an  armchair,  and, 
contrary  to  her  custom,  having  no  work  in  her  hands. 
She  appeared  calm,  though  two  dark  circles  surrounded 
her  eyes.  She  had  evidently  suffered  much,  and  wept 
much. 

On  seeing  that  dear  face,  worn  and  haggard  with 
grief,  Camors  forgot  the  neat  phrases  he  had  prepared 
for  his  entrance.  He  forgot  all  except  that  he  really 
adored  her. 

He  advanced  hastily  toward  her,  seized  in  his  two 
hands  those  of  the  young  woman  and,  without  speaking, 
interrogated  her  eyes  with  tenderness  and  profound 
pity. 

"It  is  nothing,"  she  said,  withdrawing  her  hand  and 
bending  her  pale  face  gently;  "I  am  better;  I  may 
even  be  very  happy,  if  you  wish  it." 

There  was  in  the  smile,  the  look,  and  the  accent  of 
Madame  de  Tecle  something  indefinable,  which  froze 
the  blood  of  Camors. 

He  felt  confusedly  that  she  loved  him,  and  yet  was 
lost  to  him ;  that  he  had  before  him  a  species  of  being 
he  did  not  understand,  and  that  this  woman,  saddened, 
broken,  and  lost  by  love,  yet  loved  something  else  in 
this  world  better  even  than  that  love. 

[i54] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

She  made  him  a  slight  sign,  which  he  obeyed  like  a 
child,  and  he  sat  down  beside  her. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said  to  him,  in  a  voice  tremulous  at 
first,  but  which  grew  stronger  as  she  proceeded,  "I 
heard  you  last  night  perhaps  with  a  little  too  much 
patience.  I  shall  now,  in  return,  ask  from  you  the 
same  kindness.  You  have  told  me  that  you  love  me, 
Monsieur;  and  I  avow  frankly  that  I  entertain  a  lively 
affection  for  you.  Such  being  the  case,  we  must  either 
separate  forever,  or  unite  ourselves  by  the  only  tie 
worthy  of  us  both.  To  part : — that  will  afflict  me  much, 
and  I  also  believe  it  would  occasion  much  grief  to  you. 
To  unite  ourselves: — for  my  own  part,  Monsieur,  I 
should  be  willing  to  give  you  my  life ;  but  I  can  not  do 
it,  I  can  not  wed  you  without  manifest  folly.  You  are 
younger  than  I ;  and  as  good  and  generous  as  I  believe 
you  to  be,  simple  reason  tells  me  that  by  so  doing  I 
should  bring  bitter  repentance  on  myself.  But  there  is 
yet  another  reason.  I  do  not  belong  to  myself,  I  be- 
long to  my  daughter,  to  my  family,  to  my  past.  In 
giving  up  my  name  for  yours  I  should  wound,  I  should 
cruelly  afflict,  all  the  friends  who  surround  me,  and,  I 
believe,  some  who  exist  no  longer.  Well,  Monsieur," 
she  continued,  with  a  smile  of  celestial  grace  and  resig- 
nation, "I  have  discovered  a  way  by  which  we  yet  can 
avoid  breaking  off  an  intimacy  so  sweet  to  both  of  us 
—in  fact,  to  make  it  closer  and  more  dear.  My  pro- 
posal may  surprise  you,  but  have  the  kindness  to  think 
over  it,  and  do  not  say  no,  at  once." 

She  glanced  at  him,  and  was  terrified  at  the  pallor  which 
overspread  his  face.  She  gently  took  his  hand ,  and  said : 

[155] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Have  patience!" 

"Speak  on!"  he  muttered,  hoarsely. 

"Monsieur,"  she  continued,  with  her  smile  of  angelic 
charity,  "God  be  praised,  you  are  quite  young;  in  our 
society  men  situated  as  you  are  do  not  marry  early,  and 
I  think  they  are  right.  Well,  then,  this  is  what  I  wish 
to  do,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  tell  you.  I  wish  to  blend 
in  one  affection  the  two  strongest  sentiments  of  my 
heart!  I  wish  to  concentrate  all  my  care,  all  my  tender- 
ness, all  my  joy  on  forming  a  wife  worthy  of  you — a 
young  soul  who  will  make  you  happy,  a  cultivated 
intellect  of  which  you  can  be  proud.  I  will  promise 
you,  Monsieur,  I  will  swear  to  you,  to  consecrate  to  you 
this  sweet  duty,  and  to  consecrate  to  it  all  that  is  best 
in  myself.  I  shall  devote  to  it  all  my  time,  every  instant 
of  my  life,  as  to  the  holy  work  of  a  saint.  I  swear  to 
you  that  I  shall  be  very  happy  if  you  will  only  tell  me 
that  you  will  consent  to  this." 

His  answer  was  an  impatient  exclamation  of  irony 
and  anger :  then  he  spoke : 

"You  will  pardon  me,  Madame,"  he  said,  "if  so 
sudden  a  change  in  my  sentiments  can  not  be  as  prompt 
as  you  wish." 

She  blushed  slightly. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile;  "I  can  under- 
stand that  the  idea  of  my  being  your  mother-in-law 
may  seem  strange  to  you ;  but  in  some  years,  even  in  a 
very  few  years'  time,  I  shall  be  an  old  woman,  and  then 
it  will  seem  to  you  very  natural." 

To  consummate  her  mournful  sacrifice,  the  poor 
woman  did  not  shrink  from  covering  herself,  even  in 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  presence  of  the  man  she  loved,  with  the  mantle  of 
old  age. 

The  soul  of  Camors  was  perverted,  but  not  base,  and 
it  was  suddenly  touched  at  this  simple  heroism.  He 
rendered  it  the  greatest  homage  he  could  pay,  for  his 
eyes  suddenly  filled  with  tears.  She  observed  it,  for 
she  watched  with  an  anxious  eye  the  slightest  impres- 
sion she  produced  upon  him.  So  she  continued  more 
cheerfully : 

"And  see,  Monsieur,  how  this  will  settle  everything. 
In  this  way  we  can  continue  to  see  each  other  without 
danger,  because  your  little  affianced  wife  will  be  always 
between  us.  Our  sentiments  will  soon  be  in  harmony 
with  our  new  thoughts.  Even  your  future  prospects, 
which  are  now  also  mine,  will  encounter  fewer  obstacles, 
because  I  shall  push  them  more  openly,  without  reveal- 
ing to  my  uncle  what  ought  to  remain  a  secret  between 
us  two.  I  can  let  him  suspect  my  hopes,  and  that  will 
enlist  him  in  your  service.  Above  all,  I  repeat  to  you 
that  this  will  insure  my  happiness.  Will  you  thus  ac- 
cept my  maternal  affection?" 

M.  de  Camors,  by  a  powerful  effort  of  will,  had  re- 
covered his  self-control. 

"  Pardon  me,  Madame,"  he  said,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"but  I  should  wish  at  least  to  preserve  honor.  What 
do  you  ask  of  me?  Do  you  yourself  fully  compre- 
hend? Have  you  reflected  well  on  this?  Can  either 
of  us  contract,  without  imprudence,  an  engagement  of 
so  delicate  a  nature  for  so  long  a  time?" 

"I  demand  no  engagement  of  you,"  she  replied, 
"for  I  feel  that  would  be  unreasonable.  I  only  pledge 

[157] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

myself  as  far  as  I  can,  without  compromising  the  future 
fate  of  my  daughter.  I  shall  educate  her  for  you.  I 
shall,  in  my  secret  heart,  destine  her  for  you,  and  it  is 
in  this  light  I  shall  think  of  you  for  the  future.  Grant 
me  this.  Accept  it  like  an  honest  man,  and  remain 
single.  This  is  probably  a  folly,  but  I  risk  my  repose 
upon  it.  I  will  run  all  the  risk,  because  I  shall  have  all 
the  joy.  I  have  already  had  a  thousand  thoughts  on 
this  subject,  which  I  can  not  yet  tell  you,  but  which  I 
shall  confess  to  God  this  night.  I  believe — I  am  con- 
vinced that  my  daughter,  when  I  have  done  all  that  I 
can  for  her,  will  make  an  excellent  wife  for  you.  She 
will  benefit  you,  and  be  an  honor  to  you,  and  will,  I 
hope,  one  day  thank  me  with  all  her  heart;  for  I  per- 
ceive already  what  she  wishes,  and  what  she  loves. 
You  can  not  know,  you  can  not  even  suspect — but  I — I 
know  it.  There  is  already  a  woman  in  that,  child,  and 
a  very  charming  woman — much  more  charming  than 
her  mother,  Monsieur,  I  assure  you." 

Madame  de  Tecle  stopped  suddenly,  the  door  opened, 
and  Mademoiselle  Marie  entered  the  room  brusquely, 
holding  in  each  hand  a  gigantic  doll. 

M.  Camors  rose,  bowed  gravely  to  her,  and  bit  his 
lip  to  avoid  smiling,  which  did  not  altogether  escape 
Madame  de  Tecle. 

" Marie!"  she  cried  out,  "really  you  are  absurd  with 
your  dolls!" 

"My  dolls!  I  adore  them!"  replied  Mademoiselle 
Marie. 

"You  are  absurd!  Go  away  with  your  dolls,"  said 
her  mother. 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"Not  without  embracing  you,"  said  the  child. 

She  laid  her  dolls  on  the  carpet,  sprang  on  her 
mother's  neck,  and  kissed  her  on  both  cheeks  passion- 
ately, after  which  she  took  up  her  dolls,  saying  to  them : 

"Come,  my  little  dears!"  and  left  the  room. 

"Good  heavens!"  said  Madame  de  Tecle,  laughing, 
"this  is  an  unfortunate  incident;  but  I  still  insist,  and 
I  implore  you  to  take  my  word.  She  will  have  sense, 
courage,  and  goodness.  Now,"  she  continued  in  a 
more  serious  tone,  "take  time  to  think  over  it,  and 
return  to  give  me  your  decision,  should  it  be  favorable. 
If  not,  we  must  bid  each  other  adieu." 

"Madame,"  said  Camors,  rising  and  standing  before 
her,  "I  will  promise  never  to  address  a  word  to  you 
which  a  son  might  not  utter  to  his  mother.  Is  it  not 
this  which  you  demand?" 

Madame  de  Tecle  fixed  upon  him  for  an  instant  her 
beautiful  eyes,  full  of  joy  and  gratitude,  then  suddenly 
covered  her  face  with  her  two  hands. 

"I  thank  you!"  she  murmured,  "I  am  very  happy!" 
She  extended  her  hand,  wet  with  her  tears,  which  he 
took  and  pressed  to  his  lips,  bowed  low,  and  left  the 
room. ' 

If  there  ever  was  a  moment  in  his  fatal  career  when 
the  young  man  was  really  worthy  of  admiration,  it  was 
this.  His  love  for  Madame  de  Tecle,  however  un- 
worthy of  her  it  might  be,  was  nevertheless  great.  It 
was  the  only  true  passion  he  had  ever  felt.  At  the 
moment  when  he  saw  this  love,  the  triumph  of  which 
he  thought  certain,  escape  him  forever,  he  was  not  only 
wounded  in  his  pride  but  was  crushed  in  his  heart, 

[i59  I 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Yet  he  took  the  stroke  like  a  gentleman.  His  agony 
was  well  borne.  His  first  bitter  words,  checked  at 
once,  alone  betrayed  what  he  suffered. 

He  was  as  pitiless  for  his  own  sorrows  as  he  sought 
to  be  for  those  of  others.  He  indulged  in  none  of  the 
common  injustice  habitual  to  discarded  lovers. 

He  recognized  the  decision  of  Madame  de  Tecle  as 
true  and  final,  and  was  not  tempted  for  a  moment  to 
mistake  it  for  one  of  those  equivocal  arrangements  by 
which  women  sometimes  deceive  themselves,  and  of 
which  men  always  take  advantage.  He  realized  that 
the  refuge  she  had  sought  was  inviolable.  He  neither 
argued  nor  protested  against  her  resolve.  He  sub- 
mitted to  it,  and  nobly  kissed  the  noble  hand  which 
smote  him.  As  to  the  miracle  of  courage,  chastity,  and 
faith  by  which  Madame  de  Tecle  had  transformed  and 
purified  her  love,  he  cared  not  to  dwell  upon  it.  This 
example,  which  opened  to  his  view  a  divine  soul,  naked, 
so  to  speak,  destroyed  his  theories.  One  word  which 
escaped  him,  while  passing  to  his  own  house,  proved 
the  judgment  which  he  passed  upon  it,  from  his  own 
point  of  view.  "Very  childish,"  he  muttered,  "but 
sublime!" 

On  returning  home  Camors  found  a  letter  from  Gen- 
eral Campvallon,  notifying  him  that  his  marriage  with 
Mademoiselle  d'Estrelles  would  take  place  in  a  few 
days,  and  inviting  him  to  be  present.  The  marriage 
was  to  be  strictly  private,  with  only  the  family  to  assist 
at  it. 

Camors  did  not  regret  this  invitation,  as  it  gave  him 
the  excuse  for  some  diversion  in  his  thoughts,  of  which 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

he  felt  the  need.  He  was  greatly  tempted  to  go  away 
at  once  to  diminish  his  sufferings,  but  conquered  this 
weakness.  The  next  evening  he  passed  at  the  chateau 
of  M.  des  Rameures;  and  though  his  heart  was  bleed- 
ing, he  piqued  himself  on  presenting  an  unclouded  brow 
and  an  inscrutable  smile  to  Madame  de  Tecle.  He 
announced  the  brief  absence  he  intended,  and  explained 
the  reason. 

"You  will  present  my  best  wishes  to  the  General," 
said  M.  des  Rameures.  "I  hope  he  may  be  happy, 
but  I  confess  I  doubt  it  devilishly." 

"I  shall  bear  your  good  wishes  to  the  General,  Mon- 
sieur." 

"The  deuce  you  will!  Exceptis  excipiendis,  I  hope," 
responded  the  old  gentleman,  laughing. 

As  for  Madame  de  Tecle,  to  tell  of  all  the  tender 
attentions  and  exquisite  delicacies,  that  a  sweet  womanly 
nature  knows  so  well  how  to  apply  to  heal  the  wounds 
it  has  inflicted — how  graciously  she  glided  into  her 
maternal  relation  with  Camors — to  tell  all  this  would 
require  a  pen  wielded  by  her  own  soft  hands. 

Two  days  later  M.  de  Camors  left  Reuilly  for  Paris. 
The  morning  after  his  arrival,  he  repaired  at  an  early 
hour  to  the  General's  house,  a  magnificent  h6tel  in 
the  Rue  Vanneau.  The  marriage  contract  was  to  be 
signed  that  evening,  and  the  civil  and  religious  cere- 
monies were  to  take  place  next  morning. 

Camors  found  the  General  in  a  state  of  extraordinary 

agitation,  pacing  up  and  down  the  three  salons  which 

formed  the  ground  floor  of  the  hotel.    The  moment  he 

perceived  the  young  man  entering — "Ah,  it  is  you!" 

u  [161] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

he  cried,  darting  a  ferocious  glance  upon  him.     "By 
my  faith,  your  arrival  is  fortunate." 

"But,  General!" 

"Well,  what!    Why  do  you  not  embrace  me?" 

"Certainly,  General!" 

"Very  well!    It  is  for  to-morrow,  you  know!" 

"Yes,  General." 

"Sacrebleu!  You  arc  very  cool!  Have  you  seen 
her?" 

"Not  yet,  General.     I  have  just  arrived." 

"You  must  go  and  see  her  this  morning.  You  owe 
her  this  mark  of  interest ;  and  if  you  discover  anything, 
you  must  tell  me." 

"But  what  should  I  discover,  General?" 

"How  do  I  know?  But  you  understand  women 
much  better  than  I!  Does  she  love  me,  or  does  she 
not  love  me?  You  understand,  I  make  no  pretensions 
of  turning  her  head,  but  still  I  do  not  wish  to  be  an  ob- 
ject of  repulsion  to  her.  Nothing  has  given  me  reason 
to  suppose  so,  but  the  girl  is  so  reserved,  so  impene- 
trable." 

"Mademoiselle  d'Estrelles  is  naturally  cold,"  said 
Camors. 

"Yes,"  responded  the  General.  "Yes,  and  in  some 
respects  I — but  really  now,  should  you  discover  any- 
thing, I  rely  on  your  communicating  it  to  me.  And 
stop!— when  you  have  seen  her,  have  the  kindness  to 
return  here,  for  a  few  moments — will  you?  You  will 
greatly  oblige  me!" 

"Certainly,  General,  I  shall  do  so." 

"For  my  part,  I  love  her  like  a  fool!" 
[162] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"That  is  only  right,  General!" 

"Hum — and  what  of  DCS  Rameures?" 

"I  think  we  shall  agree,  General!" 

"Bravo!  we  shall  talk  more  of  this  later.  Go  and 
see  her,  my  dear  child!" 

Carrrors  proceeded  to  the  Rue  St.  Dominique,  where 
Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  resided. 

"Is  my  aunt  in,  Joseph?"  he  inquired  of  the  servant 
whom  he  found  in  the  antechamber,  very  busy  in  the 
preparations  which  the  occasion  demanded. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Comte,  Madame  la  Comtesse  is 
in  and  will  see  you." 

"Very  well,"  said  Camors;  and  directed  his  steps 
toward  his  aunt's  chamber.  But  this  chamber  was  no 
longer  hers.  This  worthy  woman  had  insisted  on  giv- 
ing it  up  to  Mademoiselle  Charlotte,  for  whom  she 
manifested,  since  she  had  become  the  betrothed  of  the 
seven  hundred  thousand  francs'  income  of  the  General, 
the  most  humble  deference.  Mademoiselle  d'Estrelles 
had  accepted  this  change  with  a  disdainful  indifference. 
Camors,  who  was  ignorant  of  this  change,  knocked 
therefore  most  innocently  at  the  door.  Obtaining  no 
answer,  he  entered  without  hesitation,  lifted  the  curtain 
which  hung  in  the  doorway,  and  was  immediately  ar- 
rested by  a  strange  spectacle.  At  the  other  extremity 
of  the  room,  facing  him,  was  a  large  mirror,  before 
which  stood  Mademoiselle  d'Estrelles.  Her  back  was 
turned  to  him. 

She  was  dressed,  or  rather  draped,  in  a  sort  of  dress- 
ing-gown of  white  cashmere,  without  sleeves,  which 
left  her  arms  and  shoulders  bare.  Her  auburn  hair 

[163] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

was  unbound  and  floating,  and  fell  in  heavy  masses 
almost  to  her  feet.  One  hand  rested  lightly  on  the 
toilet-table,  the  other  held  together,  over  her  bust,  the 
folds  of  her  dressing-gown. 

She  was  gazing  at  herself  in  the  glass,  and  weeping 
bitterly. 

The  tears  fell  drop  by  drop  on  her  white,  fresh  bosom, 
and  glittered  there  like  the  drops  of  dew  which  one  sees 
shining  in  the  morning  on  the  shoulders  of  the  marble 
nymphs  in  the  gardens. 

Then  Camors  noiselessly  dropped  the  portiere  and 
noiselessly  retired,  taking  with  him,  nevertheless,  an 
eternal  souvenir  of  this  stolen  visit.  He  made  inquiries; 
and  finally  received  the  embraces  of  his  aunt,  who  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  chamber  of  her  son,  whom  she  had 
put  in  the  little  chamber  formerly  occupied  by  Made- 
moiselle d'Estrelles.  His  aunt,  after  the  first  greetings, 
introduced  her  nephew  into  the  salon,  where  were  dis- 
played all  the  pomps  of  the  trousseau.  Cashmeres, 
laces,  velvets,  silks  of  the  finest  quality,  covered  the 
chairs.  On  the  chimneypiece,  the  tables,  and  the  con- 
soles, were  strewn  the  jewel-cases. 

While  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  was  exhibiting  to 
Camors  these  magnificent  things — of  which  she  failed 
not  to  give  him  the  prices — Charlotte,  who  had  been 
notified  of  the  Count's  presence,  entered  the  salon. 

Her  face  was  not  only  serene — it  was  joyous.  "  Good 
morning,  cousin!"  she  said  gayly,  extending  her  hand 
to  Camors.  "How  very  kind  of  you  to  come!  Well, 
you  see  how  the  General  spoils  me?" 

"This  is  the  trousseau  of  a  princess,  Mademoiselle!" 
[164] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"And  if  you  knew,  Louis,"  said  Madame  de  la 
Roche,  "how  well  all  this  suits  her!  Dear  child!  you 
would  suppose  she  had  been  born  to  a  throne.  How- 
ever, you  know  she  is  descended  from  the  kings  of 
Spain." 

"Dear  aunt!"  said  Mademoiselle,  kissing  her  on  the 
forehead. 

"You  know,  Louis,  that  I  wish  her  to  call  me  aunt 
now?"  said  the  Countess,  affecting  the  plaintive  tone, 
which  she  thought  the  highest  expression  of  human 
tenderness. 

"Ah,  indeed!"  said  Camors. 

"Let  us  see,  little  one!  Only  try  on  your  coronet 
before  your  cousin." 

"I  should  like  to  see  it  on  your  brow,"  said  Camors. 

"Your  slightest  wishes  are  commands,"  replied 
Charlotte,  in  a  voice  harmonious  and  grave,  but  not 
untouched  with  irony. 

In  the  midst  of  the  jewelry  which  encumbered  the 
salon  was  a  full  marquise's  coronet  set  in  precious 
stones  and  pearls.  The  young  girl  adjusted  it  on  her 
head  before  the  glass,  and  then  stood  near  Camors  with 
majestic  composure. 

"Look!"  she  said;  and  he  gazed  at  her  bewildered, 
for  she  looked  wonderfully  beautiful  and  proud  under 
her  coronet. 

Suddenly  she  darted  a  glance  full  into  the  eyes  of  the 
young  man,  and  lowering  her  voice  to  a  tone  of  inex- 
pressible bitterness,  said: 

"  At  least  I  sell  myself  dearly,  do  I  not  ?"  Then  turn- 
ing her  back  to  him  she  laughed,  and  took  off  her  coronet. 

[165] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

After  some  further  conversation  Camors  left,  saying 
to  himself  that  this  adorable  person  promised  to  be- 
come very  dangerous ;  but  not  admitting  that  he  might 
profit  by  it. 

In  conformity  with  his  promise  he  returned  imme- 
diately to  the  General,  who  continued  to  pace  the  three 
rooms,  and  cried  out  as  he  saw  him : 

"Eh,  well?" 

"Very  well  indeed,  General,  perfect — everything  goes 
well." 

"You  have  seen  her?" 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"And  she  said  to  you— 

"Not  much;  but  she  seemed  enchanted." 

"Seriously,  you  did  not  remark  anything  strange?" 

"I  remarked  she  was  very  lovely!" 

"Parbleu!  and  you  think  she  loves  me  a  little?" 

"Assuredly,  after  her  way — as  much  as  she  can  love, 
for  she  has  naturally  a  very  cold  disposition." 

"Ah!  as  to  that  I  console  myself .  All  that  I  demand 
is  not  to  be  disagreeable  to  her.  Is  it  not  so?  Very 
well,  you  give  me  great  pleasure.  Now,  go  where  you 
please,  my  dear  boy,  until  this  evening." 

"Adieu  until  this  evening,  General!" 

The  signing  of  the  contract  was  marked  by  no  special 
incident;  only  when  the  notary,  with  a  low,  modest 
voice  read  the  clause  by  which  the  General  made  Made- 
moiselle d'Estrelles  heiress  to  all  his  fortune,  Camors 
was  amused  to  remark  the  superb  indifference  of  Made- 
moiselle Charlotte,  the  smiling  exasperation  of  Mes- 

[166] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

dames  Bacquiere  and  Van-Cuyp,  and  the  amorous 
regard  which  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  threw  at  the 
same  time  on  Charlotte,  her  son,  and  the  notary.  Then 
the  eye  of  the  Countess  rested  with  a  lively  interest  on 
the  General,  and  seemed  to  say  that  it  detected  with 
pleasure  in  him  an  unhealthy  appearance. 

The  next  morning,  on  leaving  the  Church  of  St. 
Thomas  d'Aquin,  the  young  Marquise  only  exchanged 
her  wedding-gown  for  a  travelling-costume,  and  de- 
parted with  her  husband  for  Campvallon,  bathed  in  the 
tears  of  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan,  whose  lacrimal 
glands  were  remarkably  tender. 

Eight  days  later  M.  de  Camors  returned  to  Reuilly. 
Paris  had  revived  him,  his  nerves  were  strong  again. 

As  a  practical  man  he  took  a  more  healthy  view  of 
his  adventure  with  Madame  de  Tecle,  and  began  to 
congratulate  himself  on  its  denouement.  Had  things 
taken  a  different  turn,  his  future  destiny  would  have 
been  compromised  and  deranged  for  him.  His  politi- 
cal future  especially  would  have  been  lost,  or  indefinitely 
postponed,  for  his  liaison  with  Madame  de  Tecle  would 
have  been  discovered  some  day,  and  would  have  forever 
alienated  the  friendly  feelings  of  M.  des  Rameures. 

On  this  point  he  did  not  deceive  himself.  Madame 
de  Tecle,  in  the  first  conversation  she  had  with  him, 
confided  to  him  that  her  uncle  seemed  much  pleased 
when  she  laughingly  let  him  see  her  idea  of  marrying 
her  daughter  some  day  to  M.  de  Camors. 

Camors  seized  this  occasion  to  remind  Madame  dc 
Tecle,  that  while  respecting  her  projects  for  the  future, 
which  she  did  him  the  honor  to  form,  he  had  not  pledged 

[167] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

himself  to  their  realization ;  and  that  both  reason  and 
honor  compelled  him  in  this  matter  to  preserve  his 
absolute  independence. 

She  assented  to  this  with  her  habitual  sweetness. 
From  this  moment,  without  ceasing  to  exhibit  toward 
him  every  mark  of  affectionate  preference,  she  never 
allowed  herself  the  slightest  allusion  to  the  dear  dream 
she  cherished.  Only  her  tenderness  for  her  daughter 
seemed  to  increase,  and  she  devoted  herself  to  the  care 
of  her  education  with  redoubled  fervor.  All  this  would 
have  touched  the  heart  of  M.  de  Camors,  if  the  heart 
of  M.  de  Camors  had  not  lost,  in  its  last  effort  at  virtue, 
the  last  trace  of  humanity. 

His  honor  set  at  rest  by  his  frank  avowals  to  Madame 
de  Tecle,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  profit  by  the  advantages 
of  the  situation.  He  allowed  her  to  serve  him  as  much 
as  she  desired,  and  she  desired  it  passionately.  Little 
by  little  she  had  persuaded  her  uncle  that  M.  de  Ca- 
mors was  destined  by  his  character  and  talents  for  a 
great  future,  and  that  he  would,  one  day,  be  an  excel- 
lent match  for  Marie;  that  he  was  becoming  daily 
more  attached  to  agriculture,  which  turned  toward  de- 
centralization, and  that  he  should  be  attached  by  firmer 
bonds  to  a  province  which  he  would  honor.  While  this 
was  going  on  General  Campvallon  brought  the  Mar- 
quise to  present  her  to  Madame  de  Tecle ;  and  in  a  con- 
fidential interview  with  M.  des  Rameures  unmasked  his 
batteries.  He  was  going  to  Italy  to  remain  some  time, 
but  desired  first  to  tender  his  resignation,  and  to  rec- 
ommend Camors  to  his  faithful  electors. 

M.  des  Rameures,  gained  over  beforehand,  prom- 
[168] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

ised  his  aid;  and  that  aid  was  equivalent  to  success. 
Camors  had  only  to  make  some  personal  visits  to  the 
more  influential  electors;  but  his  appearance  was  as 
seductive  as  it  was  striking,  and  he  was  one  of  those 
fortunate  men  who  can  win  a  heart  or  a  vote  by  a 
smile.  Finally,  to  comply  with  the  requisitions,  he 
established  himself  for  several  weeks  in  the  chief  town 
of  the  department.  He  made  his  court  to  the  wife  of 
the  prefect,  sufficiently  to  flatter  the  functionary  with- 
out disquieting  the  husband.  The  prefect  informed 
the  minister  that  the  claims  of  the  Comte  de  Camors 
were  pressed  upon  the  department  by  an  irresistible 
influence ;  that  the  politics  of  the  young  Count  appeared 
undecided  and  a  little  suspicious,  but  that  the  adminis- 
tration, finding  it  useless  to  oppose,  thought  it  more 
politic  to  sustain  him. 

The  minister,  not  less  politic  than  the  prefect,  was  of 
the  same  opinion. 

In  consequence  of  this  combination  of  circumstances, 
M.  de  Camors,  toward  the  end  of  his  twenty-eighth 
year,  was  elected,  at  intervals  of  a  few  days,  member  of 
the  Council-General,  and  deputy  to  the  Corps  Le*gis- 
latif. 

"You  have  desired  it,  my  dear  Elise,"  said  M.  des 
Rameures,  on  learning  this  double  result — "you  have 
desired  it,  and  I  have  supported  this  young  Parisian 
with  all  my  influence.  But  I  must  say,  he  does  not 
possess  my  confidence.  May  we  never  regret  our 
triumph.  May  we  never  have  to  say  with  the  poet: 
'  Vota  Diis  exaudita  malignis." 

'The  evil  gods  have  heard  our  vows. 
[169] 


was  now  five  years  since  the  electors 
of  Reuilly  had  sent  the  Comte  de 
Camors  to  the  Corps  Legislatif,  and 
they  had  seen  no  cause  to  regret  their 
choice.  He  understood  marvellously 
well  their  little  local  interests,  and 
neglected  no  occasion  of  forwarding 
them.  Furthermore,  if  any  of  his 
constituents,  passing  through  Paris,  presented  them- 
selves at  his  small  hotel  on  the  Rue  de  I'lmperatricc— 
it  had  been  built  by  an  architect  named  Lescande,  as 
a  compliment  from  the  deputy  to  his  old  friend — they 
were  received  with  a  winning  affability  that  sent  them 
back  to  the  province  with  softened  hearts.  M.  dc 
Camors  would  condescend  to  inquire  whether  their 
wives  or  their  daughters  had  borne  them  company ;  he 
would  place  at  their  disposal  tickets  for  the  theatres 
and  passes  into  the  Legislative  Chamber;  and  would 
show  them  his  pictures  and  his  stables.  He  also  trotted 
out  his  horses  in  the  court  under  their  eyes.  They 
found  him  much  improved  in  personal  appearance,  and 
even  reported  affectionately  that  his  face  was  fuller  and 
had  lost  the  melancholy  cast  it  used  to  wear.  His  man- 
ner, once  reserved,  was  now  warmer,  without  any  loss 

[170] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

of  dignity;  his  expression,  once  morose,  was  now 
marked  by  a  serenity  at  once  pleasing  and  grave.  His 
politeness  was  almost  a  royal  grace;  for  he  showed  to 
women — young  or  old,  rich  or  poor,  virtuous  or  other- 
wise— the  famous  suavity  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth. 

To  his  equals,  as  to  his  inferiors,  his  urbanity  was 
perfection;  for  he  cultivated  in  the  depths  of  his  soul— 
for  women,  for  his  inferiors,  for  his  equals,  and  for  his 
constituents — the  same  contempt. 

He  loved,  esteemed,  and  respected  only  himself; 
but  that  self  he  loved,  esteemed,  and  respected  as  a  god ! 
In  fact,  he  had  now  realized  as  completely  as  possible, 
in  his  own  person,  that  almost  superhuman  ideal  he 
had  conceived  in  the  most  critical  hour  of  his  life. 

When  he  surveyed  himself  from  head  to  foot  in  the 
mental  mirror  before  him,  he  was  content!  He  was 
truly  that  which  he  wished  to  be.  The  programme  of 
his  life,  as  he  had  laid  it  down,  was  faithfully  carried 
out. 

By  a  powerful  effort  of  his  mighty  will,  he  succeeded 
in  himself  adopting,  rather  than  disdaining  in  others, 
all  those  animal  instincts  that  govern  the  vulgar.  These 
he  believed  fetters  which  bound  the  feeble,  but  which 
the  strong  could  use.  He  applied  himself  ceaselessly 
to  the  development  and  perfection  of  his  rare  physical 
and  intellectual  gifts,  only  that  he  might,  during  the 
short  passage  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb,  extract  from 
them  the  greatest  amount  of  pleasure.  Fully  convinced 
that  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  world,  delicacy  of 
taste  and  elegance,  refinement  and  the  point  of  honor 
constituted  a  sort  of  moral  whole  which  formed  the  true 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

gentleman,  he  strove  to  adorn  his  person  with  the 
graver  as  well  as  the  lighter  graces.  He  was  like  a  con- 
scientious artist,  who  would  leave  no  smallest  detail 
incomplete.  The  result  of  his  labor  was  so  satisfac- 
tory, that  M.  de  Camors,  at  the  moment  we  rejoin  him, 
was  not  perhaps  one  of  the  best  men  in  the  world,  but 
he  was  beyond  doubt  one  of  the  happiest  and  most 
amiable.  Like  all  men  who  have  determined  to  culti- 
vate ability  rather  than  scrupulousness,  he  saw  all 
things  developing  to  his  satisfaction.  Confident  of  his 
future,  he  discounted  it  boldly,  and  lived  as  if  very  opu- 
lent. His  rapid  elevation  was  explained  by  his  unfail- 
ing audacity,  by  his  cool  judgment  and  neat  finesse,  by 
his  great  connection  and  by  his  moral  independence. 
He  had  a  hard  theory,  which  he  continually  expounded 
with  all  imaginable  grace:  "Humanity,"  he  would 
say,  "is  composed  of  speculators!" 

Thoroughly  imbued  with  this  axiom,  he  had  taken 
his  degree  in  the  grand  lodge  of  financiers.  There  he 
at  once  made  himself  an  authority  by  his  manner  and 
address;  and  he  knew  well  how  to  use  his  name,  his 
political  influence,  and  his  reputation  for  integrity. 
Employing  all  these,  yet  never  compromising  one  of 
them,  he  influenced  men  by  their  virtues,  or  their  vices, 
with  equal  indifference.  He  was  incapable  of  mean- 
ness; he  never  wilfully  entrapped  a  friend,  or  even  an 
enemy,  into  a  disastrous  speculation;  only,  if  the  ven- 
ture proved  unsuccessful,  he  happened  to  get  out  and 
leave  the  others  in  it.  But  in  financial  speculations,  as 
in  battles,  there  must  be  what  is  called  "food  for  pow- 
der;" and  if  one  be  too  solicitous  about  this  worthless 

[172] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

pabulum,  nothing  great  can  be  accomplished.  So 
Camors  passed  as  one  of  the  most  scrupulous  of  this 
goodly  company ;  and  his  word  was  as  potential  in  the 
region  of  "the  rings,"  as  it  was  in  the  more  elevated 
sphere  of  the  clubs  and  of  the  turf. 

Nor  was  he  less  esteemed  in  the  Corps  Le"gislatif, 
where  he  assumed  the  curious  role  of  a  working  mem- 
ber until  committees  fought  for  him.  It  surprised  his 
colleagues  to  see  this  elegant  young  man,  with  such  fine 
abilities,  so  modest  and  so  laborious — to  see  him  ready 
on  the  dryest  subjects  and  with  the  most  tedious  re- 
ports. Ponderous  laws  of  local  interest  neither  fright- 
ened nor  mystified  him.  He  seldom  spoke  in  the  pub- 
lic debates,  except  as  a  reporter;  but  in  the  committee 
he  spoke  often,  and  there  his  manner  was  noted  for  its 
grave  precision,  tinged  with  irony.  No  one  doubted 
that  he  was  one  of  the  statesmen  of  the  future;  but  it 
could  be  seen  he  was  biding  his  time. 

The  exact  shade  of  his  politics  was  entirely  un- 
known. He  sat  in  the  "centre  left;"  polite  to  every 
one,  but  reserved  with  all.  Persuaded,  like  his  father, 
that  the  rising  generation  was  preparing,  after  a  time, 
to  pass  from  theories  to  revolution — and  calculating 
with  pleasure  that  the  development  of  this  periodical 
catastrophe  would  probably  coincide  with  his  fortieth 
year,  and  open  to  his  blasi  maturity  a  source  of  new 
emotions — he  determined  to  wait  and  mold  his  politi- 
cal opinions  according  to  circumstances. 

His  life,  nevertheless,  had  sufficient  of  the  agreeable 
to  permit  him  to  wait  the  hour  of  ambition.  Men  re- 
spected, feared,  and  envied  him.  Women  adored  him. 

[i73] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

His  presence,  of  which  he  was  not  prodigal,  adorned 
an  entertainment:  his  intrigues  could  not  be  gossiped 
about,  being  at  the  same  time  choice,  numerous,  and 
most  discreetly  conducted. 

Passions  purely  animal  never  endure  long,  and  his 
were  most  ephemeral;  but  he  thought  it  due  to  himself 
to  pay  the  last  honors  to  his  victims,  and  to  inter  them 
delicately  under  the  flowers  of  his  friendship.  He  had 
in  this  way  made  many  friends  among  the  Parisian 
women — a  few  only  of  whom  detested  him.  As  for  the 
husbands — they  were  universally  fond  of  him. 

To  these  elegant  pleasures  he  sometimes  added  a 
furious  debauch,  when  his  imagination  was  for  the 
moment  maddened  by  champagne.  But  low  company 
disgusted  him,  and  he  shunned  it;  he  was  not  a  man 
for  frequent  orgies,  and  economized  his  health,  his  en- 
ergies, and  his  strength.  His  tastes  were  as  thoroughly 
elevated  as  could  be  those  of  a  being  who  strove  to  re- 
press his  soul.  Refined  intrigues,  luxury  in  music, 
paintings,  books,  and  horses — these  constituted  all  the 
joy  of  his  soul,  of  his  sense,  and  of  his  pride.  He  hov- 
ered over  the  flowers  of  Parisian  elegance;  as  a  bee 
in  the  bosom  of  a  rose,  he  drank  in  its  essence  and 
revelled  in  its  beauty. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  that  M.  de  Camors,  relish- 
ing this  prosperity,  attached  himself  more  and  more  to 
the  moral  and  religious  creed  that  assured  it  to  him; 
that  he  became  each  day  more  and  more  confirmed  in 
the  belief  that  the  testament  of  his  father  and  his  own 
reflection  had  revealed  to  him  the  true  evangel  of  men 
superior  to  their  species.  He  was  less  and  less  tempted 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

to  violate  the  rules  of  the  game  of  life;  but  among  all 
the  useless  cards,  to  hold  which  might  disturb  his  sys- 
tem, the  first  he  discarded  was  the  thought  of  marriage. 
He  pitied  himself  too  tenderly  at  the  idea  of  losing  the 
liberty  of  which  he  made  such  agreeable  use;  at  the 
idea  of  taking  on  himself  gratuitously  the  restraints, 
the  tedium,  the  ridicule,  and  even  the  danger  of  a  house- 
hold. He  shuddered  at  the  bare  thought  of  a  com- 
munity of  goods  and  interest;  and  of  possible  pa- 
ternity. 

With  such  views  he  was  therefore  but  little  disposed 
to  encourage  the  natural  hopes  in  which  Madame  de 
Tecle  had  entombed  her  love.  He  determined  so  to 
conduct  himself  toward  her  as  to  leave  no  ground  for 
the  growth  of  her  illusion.  He  ceased  to  visit  Reuilly, 
remaining  there  but  two  or  three  weeks  in  each  year, 
as  such  time  as  the  session  of  the  Council-General  sum- 
moned him  to  the  province. 

It  is  true  that  during  these  rare  visits  Camors  piqued 
himself  on  rendering  Madame  de  Tecle  and  M.  des 
Rameures  all  the  duties  of  respectful  gratitude.  Yet 
avoiding  all  allusion  to  the  past,  guarding  himself 
scrupulously  from  confidential  converse,  and  observ- 
ing a  frigid  politeness  to  Mademoiselle  Marie,  there 
remained  doubt  in  his  mind  that,  the  fickleness  of  the 
fair  sex  aiding  him,  the  young  mother  of  the  girl  would 
renounce  her  chimerical  project.  His  error  was  great : 
and  it  may  be  here  remarked  that  a  hard  and  scornful 
Scepticism  may  in  this  world  engender  as  many  false 
judgments  and  erroneous  calculations  as  candor  or 
even  inexperience  can.  He  believed  too  much  in  what 


OCTAVE  FETJILLET 

had  been  written  of  female  fickleness;  in  deceived 
lovers,  who  truly  deserved  to  be  such;  and  in  what  dis- 
appointed men  had  judged  of  them. 

The  truth  is,  women  are  generally  remarkable  for 
the  tenacity  of  their  ideas  and  for  fidelity  to  their  senti- 
ments. Inconstancy  of  heart  is  the  special  attribute  of 
man;  but  he  deems  it  his  privilege  as  well,  and  when 
woman  disputes  the  palm  with  him  on  this  ground,  he 
cries  aloud  as  if  the  victim  of  a  robber. 

Rest  assured  this  theory  is  no  paradox;  as  proven 
by  the  prodigies  of  patient  devotion — tenacious,  in- 
violable— every  day  displayed  by  women  of  the  lower 
classes,  whose  natures,  if  gross,  retain  their  primitive 
sincerity.  Even  with  women  of  the  world,  depraved 
though  they  be  by  the  temptations  that  assail  them, 
nature  asserts  herself;  and  it  is  no  rarity  to  see  them 
devote  an  entire  life  to  one  idea,  one  thought,  or  one 
affection!  Their  lives  do  not  know  the  thousand  dis- 
tractions which  at  once  disturb  and  console  men ;  and 
any  idea  that  takes  hold  upon  them  easily  becomes 
fixed.  They  dwell  upon  it  in  the  crowd  and  in  solitude; 
when  they  read  and  while  they  sew;  in  their  dreams 
and  in  their  prayers.  In  it  they  live — for  it  they  die. 

It  was  thus  that  Madame  de  Tecle  had  dwelt  year 
after  year  on  the  project  of  this  alliance  with  unalter- 
able fervor,  and  had  blended  the  two  pure  affections 
that  shared  her  heart  in  this  union  of  her  daughter  with 
Camors,  and  in  thus  securing  the  happiness  of  both. 
Ever  since  she  had  conceived  this  desire — which  could 
only  have  had  its  birth  in  a  soul  as  pure  as  it  was  tender 
— the  education  of  her  child  had  become  the  sweet 

[176] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

romance  of  her  life.  She  dreamed  of  it  always,  and 
of  nothing  else. 

Without  knowing  or  even  suspecting  the  evil  traits 
lurkjng  in  the  character  of  Camors,  she  still  under- 
stood that,  like  the  great  majority  of  the  young  men  of 
his  day,  the  young  Count  was  not  overburdened  with 
principle.  But  she  held  that  one  of  the  privileges  of 
woman,  in  our  social  system,  was  the  elevation  of  their 
husbands  by  connection  with  a  pure  soul,  by  family 
affections,  and  by  the  sweet  religion  of  the  heart.  Seek- 
ing, therefore,  by  making  her  daughter  an  amiable  and 
lovable  woman,  to  prepare  her  for  the  high  mission  for 
which  she  was  destined,  she  omitted  nothing  which 
could  improve  her.  What  success  rewarded  her  care 
the  sequel  of  this  narrative  will  show.  It  will  suffice, 
for  the  present,  to  inform  the  reader  that  Mademoiselle 
de  Tecle  was  a  young  girl  of  pleasing  countenance, 
whose  short  neck  was  placed  on  shoulders  a  little  too 
high.  She  was  not  beautiful,  but  extremely  pretty,  well 
educated,  and  much  more  vivacious  than  her  mother. 

Mademoiselle  Marie  was  so  quick-witted  that  her 
mother  often  suspected  she  knew  the  secret  which  con- 
cerned herself.  Sometimes  she  talked  too  much  of  M. 
de  Camors;  sometimes  she  talked  too  little,  and  as- 
sumed a  mysterious  air  when  others  spoke  of  him. 

Madame  de  Tecle  was  a  little  disturbed  by  these  ec- 
centricities. The  conduct  of  M.  de  Camors,  and  his 
more  than  reserved  bearing,  annoyed  her  occasionally; 
but  when  we  love  any  one  we  are  likely  to  interpret 
favorably  all  that  he  does,  or  all  that  he  omits  to  do. 
Madame  de  Tecle  readily  attributed  the  equivocal  con- 
is  [177] 


duct  of  the  Count  to  the  inspiration  of  a  chivalric  loy- 
alty. As  she  believed  she  knew  him  thoroughly,  she 
thought  he  wished  to  avoid  committing  himself,  or 
awakening  public  observation,  before  he  had  made  up 
his  mind. 

He  acted  thus  to  avoid  disturbing  the  repose  of  both 
mother  and  daughter.  Perhaps  also  the  large  fortune 
which  seemed  destined  for  Mademoiselle  de  Tecle 
might  add  to  his  scruples  by  rousing  his  pride. 

His  not  marrying  was  in  itself  a  good  augury,  and 
his  little  fiancee  was  reaching  a  marriageable  age.  She 
therefore  did  not  despair  that  some  day  M.  de  Camors 
would  throw  himself  at  her  feet,  and  say,  "Give  her  to 
me!" 

If  God  did  not  intend  that  this  delicious  page  should 
ever  be  written  in  the  book  of  her  destiny,  and  she  was 
forced  to  marry  her  daughter  to  another,  the  poor 
woman  consoled  herself  with  the  thought  that  all  the 
cares  she  lavished  upon  her  would  not  be  lost,  and  that 
her  dear  child  would  thus  be  rendered  better  and 
happier. 

The  long  months  which  intervened  between  the 
annual  apparition  of  Camors  at  Reuilly,  filled  up  by 
Madame  de  Tecle  with  a  single  idea  and  by  the  sweet 
monotony  of  a  regular  life,  passed  more  rapidly  than 
the  Count  could  have  imagined.  His  own  life,  so  ac- 
tive and  so  occupied,  placed  ages  and  abysses  between 
each  of  his  periodical  voyages.  But  Madame  de 
Tecle,  after  five  years,  was  always  only  a  day  removed 
from  the  cherished  and  fatal  night  on  which  her  dream 
had  begun.  Since  that  period  there  had  beer}  no  break 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

in  her  thoughts,  no  void  in  her  heart,  no  wrinkle  on  her 
forehead.  Her  dream  continued  young,  like  herself. 
But  in  spite  of  the  peaceful  and  rapid  succession  of  her 
days,  it  was  not  without  anxiety  that  she  saw  the  ap- 
proach of  the  season  which  always  heralded  the  return 
of  Camors. 

As  her  daughter  matured,  she  preoccupied  herself 
with  the  impression  she  would  make  on  the  mind  of 
the  Count,  and  felt  more  sensibly  the  solemnity  of  the 
matter. 

Mademoiselle  Marie,  as  we  have  already  stated,  was 
a  cunning  little  puss,  and  had  not  failed  to  perceive  that 
her  tender  mother  chose  habitually  the  season  of  the 
convocation  of  the  Councils-General  to  try  a  new 
style  of  hair-dressing  for  her.  The  same  year  on 
which  we  have  resumed  our  recital  there  passed,  on 
one  occasion,  a  little  scene  which  rather  annoyed  Ma- 
dame de  Tecle.  She  was  trying  a  new  coiffure  on 
Mademoiselle  Marie,  whose  hair  was  very  pretty  and 
very  black;  some  stray  and  rebellious  portions  had 
frustrated  her  mother's  efforts. 

There  was  one  lock  in  particular,  which  in  spite  of 
all  combing  and  brushing  would  break  away  from  the 
rest,  and  fall  in  careless  curls.  Madame  de  Tecle 
finally,  by  the  aid  of  some  ribbons,  fastened  down  the 
rebellious  curl : 

"Now  I  think  it  will  do,"  she  said  sighing,  and  step- 
ping back  to  admire  the  effect  of  her  work. 

"Don't  believe  it,"  said  Marie,  who  was  laughing 
and  mocking.  "I  do  not  think  so.  I  see  exactly  what 
will  happen:  the  bell  rings — I  run  out — my  net  gives 

[i79] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

way — Monsieur  de  Camors  walks  in — my  mother  is 
annoyed — tableau ! " 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  Monsieur  de  Camors 
has  to  do  with  it?"  said  Madame  de  Tecle. 

Her  daughter  threw  her  arms  around  her  neck — 
"Nothing!"  she  said. 

Another  time  Madame  de  Tecle  detected  her  speak- 
ing of  M.  de  Camors  in  a  tone  of  bitter  irony.  He  was 
"the  great  man" — "the  mysterious  personage" — "the 
star  of  the  neighborhood" — "the  phoenix  of  guests  in 
their  woods" — or  simply  "the  Prince!" 

Such  symptoms  were  of  so  serious  a  nature  as  not  to 
escape  Madame  de  Tecle. 

In  presence  of  "the  Prince,"  it  is  true,  the  young 
girl  lost  her  gayety;  but  this  was  another  cross.  Her 
mother  found  her  cold,  awkward,  and  silent — brief, 
and  slightly  caustic  in  her  replies.  She  feared  M.  de 
Camors  would  misjudge  her  from  such  appearances. 

But  Camors  formed  no  judgment,  good  or  bad; 
Mademoiselle  de  Tecle  was  for  him  only  an  insignifi- 
cant little  girl,  whom  he  never  thought  of  for  a  mo- 
ment in  the  year. 

There  was,  however,  at  this  time  in  society  a  person 
who  did  interest  him  very  much,  and  the  more  because 
against  his  will.  This  was  the  Marquise  de  Campvallon, 
nee  de  Luc  d'Estrelles. 

The  General,  after  making  the  tour  of  Europe  with 
his  young  wife,  had  taken  possession  of  his  hotel  in  the 
Rue  Vanneau,  where  he  lived  in  great  splendor.  They 
resided  at  Paris  during  the  winter  and  spring,  but  in 
July  returned  to  their  chateau  at  Campvallon,  where 

[180] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

they  entertained  in  great  state  until  the  autumn.  The 
General  invited  Madame  de  Tecle  and  her  daughter, 
every  year,  to  pass  some  weeks  at  Camp val Ion,  rightly 
judging  that  he  could  not  give  his  young  wife  better 
companions.  Madame  de  Tecle  accepted  these  invita- 
tions cheerfully,  because  it  gave  her  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  the  6lite  of  the  Parisian  world,  from  whom  the 
whims  of  her  uncle  had  always  isolated  her.  For  her 
own  part,  she  did  not  much  enjoy  it;  but  her  daughter, 
by  moving  in  the  midst  of  such  fashion  and  elegance 
could  thus  efface  some  provincialisms  of  toilet  or  of 
language;  perfect  her  taste  in  the  delicate  and  fleeting 
changes  of  the  prevailing  modes,  and  acquire  some 
additional  graces.  The  young  Marquise,  who  reigned 
and  scintillated  like  a  bright  star  in  these  high  regions 
of  social  life,  lent  herself  to  the  designs  of  her  neighbor. 
She  seemed  to  take  a  kind  of  maternal  interest  in  Made- 
moiselle de  Tecle,  and  frequently  added  her  advice  to 
her  example.  She  assisted  at  her  toilet  and  gave  the 
final  touches  with  her  own  dainty  hands;  and  the  young 
girl,  in  return,  loved,  admired,  and  confided  in  her. 

Camors  also  enjoyed  the  hospitalities  of  the  General 
once  every  season,  but  was  not  his  guest  as  often  as  he 
wished.  He  seldom  remained  at  Campvallon  longer 
than  a  week.  Since  the  return  of  the  Marquise  to 
France  he  had  resumed  the  relations  of  a  kinsman  and 
friend  with  her  husband  and  herself;  but,  while  trying 
to  adopt  the  most  natural  manner,  he  treated  them  both 
with  a  certain  reserve,  which  astonished  the  General.  It 
will  not  surprise  the  reader,  who  recollects  the  secret  and 
powerful  reasons  which  justified  this  circumspection. 

[181] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

For  Camors,  in  renouncing  the  greater  part  of  the 
restraints  which  control  and  bind  men  in  their  relations 
with  one  another,  had  religiously  intended  to  preserve 
one — the  sentiment  of  honor.  Many  times,  in  the 
course  of  this  life,  he  had  felt  himself  embarrassed  to 
limit  and  fix  with  certainty  the  boundaries  of  the  only 
moral  law  he  wished  to  respect. 

It  is  easy  to  know  exactly  what  is  in  the  Bible; — it 
is  not  easy  to  know  exactly  what  the  code  of  honor 
commands. 


CHAPTER  XII 

CIRCE 

TJT  there  exists,  nevertheless,  in  this 
code  one  article,  as  to  which  M.  dc 
Camors  could  not  deceive  himself, 
and  it  was  that  which  forbade  his 
attempting  to  assail  the  honor  of  the 
General  under  penalty  of  being  in 
his  own  eyes,  as  a  gentleman,  a  felon 
and  foresworn.  He  had  accepted 
from  this  old  man  confidence,  affection,  services,  bene- 
fits— everything  which  could  bind  one  man  inviolably 
to  another  man — if  there  be  beneath  the  heavens  any- 
thing called  honor.  He  felt  this  profoundly. 

His  conduct  toward  Madame  de  Campvallon  had 
been  irreproachable;  and  all  the  more  so,  because  the 
only  woman  he  was  interdicted  from  loving  was  the 
only  woman  in  Paris,  or  in  the  universe,  who  naturally 
pleased  him  most.  He  entertained  for  her,  at  once, 
the  interest  which  attaches  to  forbidden  fruit,  to  the 
attraction  of  strange  beauty,  and  to  the  mystery  of  an 
impenetrable  sphinx.  She  was,  at  this  time,  more 
goddess-like  than  ever.  The  immense  fortune  of  her 
husband,  and  the  adulation  which  it  brought  her,  had 
placed  her  on  a  golden  car.  On  this  she  seated  herself 
with  a  gracious  and  native  majesty,  as  if  in  her  proper 
place. 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

The  luxury  of  her  toilet,  of  her  jewels,  of  her  house 
and  of  her  equipages,  was  of  regal  magnificence.  She 
blended  the  taste  of  an  artist  with  that  of  a  patrician. 
Her  person  appeared  really  to  be  made  divine  by  the 
rays  of  this  splendor.  Large,  blonde,  graceful,  the  eyes 
blue  and  unfathomable,  the  forehead  grave,  the  mouth 
pure  and  proud  it  was  impossible  to  see  her  enter  a 
salon  with  her  light,  gliding  step,  or  to  see  her  reclining 
in  her  carriage,  her  hands  folded  serenely,  without 
dreaming  of  the  young  immortals  w7hose  love  brought 
death. 

She  had  even  those  traits  of  physiognomy,  stern  and 
wild,  which  the  antique  sculptors  doubtless  had  sur- 
prised in  supernatural  visitations,  and  which  they  have 
stamped  on  the  eyes  and  the  lips  of  their  marble  gods. 
Her  arms  and  shoulders,  perfect  in  form,  seemed 
models,  in  the  midst  of  the  rosy  and  virgin  snow  which 
covered  the  neighboring  mountains.  She  was  truly 
superb  and  bewitching.  The  Parisian  world  respected 
as  much  as  it  admired  her,  for  she  played  her  difficult 
part  of  young  bride  to  an  old  man  so  perfectly  as  to 
avoid  scandal.  Without  any  pretence  of  extraordinary 
devotion,  she  knew  how  to  join  to  her  worldly  pomps 
the  exercise  of  charity,  and  all  the  other  practices  of  an 
elegant  piety.  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan,  who 
watched  her  closely,  as  one  watching  a  prey,  testified, 
herself,  in  her  favor;  and  judged  her  more  and  more 
worthy  of  her  son.  And  Camors,  who  observed  her, 
in  spite  of  himself,  with  an  eager  curiosity,  was  finally 
induced  to  believe,  as  did  his  aunt  and  all  the  world, 
that  she  conscientiously  performed  her  difficult  duties, 

[184] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

and  that  she  found  in  the  tdat  of  her  life  and  the  grati- 
fication of  her  pride  a  sufficient  compensation  for  the 
sacrifice  of  her  youth,  her  heart,  and  her  beauty;  but 
certain  souvenirs  of  the  past,  joined  to  certain  peculiari- 
ties, which  he  fancied  he  remarked  in  the  Marquise, 
induced  him  to  distrust. 

There  were  times,  when  recalling  all  that  he  had 
once  witnessed — the  abysses  and  the  flame  at  the  bot- 
tom of  that  heart — he  was  tempted  to  suspect  the  ex- 
istence of  many  storms  under  all  this  calm  exterior,  and 
perhaps  some  wickedness.  It  is  true  she  never  was 
with  him  precisely  as  she  was  before  the  world.  The 
character  of  their  relations  was  marked  by  a  pecul- 
iar tone.  It  was  precisely  that  tone  of  covert  irony 
adopted  by  two  persons  who  desired  neither  to  remem- 
ber nor  to  forget.  This  tone,  softened  in  the  language 
of  Camors  by  his  worldly  tact  and  his  respect,  was 
much  more  pointed,  and  had  much  more  of  bitterness 
on  the  side  of  the  young  woman. 

He  even  fancied,  at  times,  that  he  discovered  a  shade 
of  coquetry  under  this  treatment;  and  this  provoca- 
tion, vague  as  it  was,  coming  from  this  beautiful,  cold, 
and  inscrutable  creature,  seemed  to  him  a  game  fear- 
fully mysterious,  that  at  once  attracted  and  disturbed 
him. 

This  was  the  state  of  things  when  the  Count  came, 
according  to  custom,  to  pass  the  first  days  of  September 
at  the  chateau  of  Campvallon,  and  met  there  Madame 
de  Tecle  and  her  daughter.  The  visit  was  a  painful 
one,  this  year,  for  Madame  de  Tecle.  Her  confidence 
deserted  her,  and  serious  concern  took  its  place.  She 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

had,  it  is  true,  fixed  in  her  mind,  as  the  last  point  of  her 
hopes,  the  moment  when  her  daughter  should  have 
reached  twenty  years  of  age;  and  Marie  was  only 
eighteen. 

But  she  already  had  had  several  offers,  and  several 
times  public  rumor  had  already  declared  her  to  be 
betrothed. 

Now,  Camors  could  not  have  been  ignorant  of  the 
rumors  circulating  in  the  neighborhood,  and  yet  he 
did  not  speak.  His  countenance  did  not  change.  He 
was  coldly  affectionate  to  Madame  de  Tecle,  but  to- 
ward Marie,  in  spite  of  her  beautiful  blue  eyes,  like  her 
mother's,  and  her  curly  hair,  he  preserved  a  frozen  in- 
difference. For  Camors  had  other  anxieties,  of  which 
Madame  de  Tecle  knew  nothing.  The  manner  of  Ma- 
dame Campvallon  toward  him  had  assumed .  a  more 
marked  character  of  aggressive  raillery.  A  defensive 
attitude  is  never  agreeable  to  a  man,  and  Camors  felt 
it  more  disagreeable  than  most  men — being  so  little 
accustomed  to  it. 

He  resolved  promptly  to  shorten  his  visit  at  Camp- 
vallon. 

On  the  eve  of  his  departure,  about  five  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  he  was  standing  at  his  window,  looking 
beyond  the  trees  at  the  great  black  clouds  sailing  over 
the  valley,  when  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  had 
power  to  move  him  deeply— " Monsieur  de  Camors!" 
He  saw  the  Marquise  standing  under  his  window. 

"Will  you  walk  with  me?"  she  added. 

He  bowed  and  descended  immediately.  At  the 
moment  he  reached  her— 

[186] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"It  is  suffocating,"  she  said.  "I  wish  to  walk  round 
the  park  and  will  take  you  with  me." 

He  muttered  a  few  polite  phrases,  and  they  began 
walking,  side  by  side,  through  the  alleys  of  the 
park. 

She  moved  at  a  rapid  pace,  with  her  majestic  motion, 
her  body  swaying,  her  head  erect.  One  would  have 
looked  for  a  page  behind  her,  but  she  had  none,  and 
her  long  blue  robe — she  rarely  wore  short  skirts — 
trailed  on  the  sand  and  over  the  dry  leaves  with  the 
soft  rustle  of  silk. 

"I  have  disturbed  you,  probably?"  she  said,  after 
a  moment's  pause.  "What  were  you  dreaming  of  up 
there?" 

"Nothing — only  watching  the  coming  storm." 

"Are  you  becoming  poetical,  cousin?" 

"There  is  no  necessity  for  becoming,  for  I  already 
am  infinitely  so!" 

"I  do  not  think  so.     Shall  you  leave  to-morrow?" 

"I  shall." 

"Why  so  soon?" 

"I  have  business  elsewhere." 

"Very  well.     But  Vau — Vautrot—  is  he  not  there?" 

Vautrot  was  the  secretary  of  M.  de  Camors. 

"Vautrot  can  not  do  everything,"  he  replied. 

"By  the  way,  I  do  not  like  your  Vautrot." 

"Nor  I.  But  he  was  recommended  to  me  by  my  old 
friend,  Madame  d'Oilly,  as  a  freethinker,  and  at  the 
same  time  by  my  aunt,  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan, 
as  a  religious  man!" 

"How  amusing!" 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Nevertheless,"  said  Camors,  "he  is  intelligent  and 
witty,  and  writes  a  fine  hand." 

"And  you?" 

"How?    What  of  me?" 

"Do  you  also  write  a  good  hand?" 

"I  will  show  you,  whenever  you  wish!" 

"Ah!  and  will  you  write  to  me?" 

It  is  difficult  to  imagine  the  tone  of  supreme  indiffer- 
ence and  haughty  persiflage  with  which  the  Marquise 
sustained  this  dialogue,  without  once  slackening  her 
pace,  or  glancing  at  her  companion,  or  changing  the 
proud  and  erect  pose  of  her  head. 

"I  will  write  you  either  prose  or  verse,  as  you  wish," 
said  Camors. 

"Ah!  you  know  how  to  compose  verses?" 

"When  I  am  inspired!" 

"And  when  are  you  inspired?" 

"Usually  in  the  morning." 

"And  we  are  now  in  the  evening.  That  is  not 
complimentary  to  me." 

"But  you,  Madame,  had  no  desire  to  inspire  me, 
I  think." 

"Why  not,  then?  I  should  be  happy  and  proud 
to  do  so.  Do  you  know  what  I  should  like  to  put 
there?"  and  she  stopped  suddenly  before  a  rustic 
bridge,  which  spanned  a  murmuring  rivulet. 

"I  do  not  know!" 

"You  can  not  even  guess?  I  should  like  to  put  an 
artificial  rock  there." 

"Why  not  a  natural  one?  In  your  place  I  should 
put  a  natural  one!" 

[188] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"That  is  an  idea,"  said  the  Marquise,  and  walking 
on  she  crossed  the  bridge. 

"But  it  really  thunders.  I  like  to  hear  thunder  in 
the  country.  Do  you?" 

"I  prefer  to  hear  it  thunder  at  Paris." 

"Why?" 

"Because  then  I  should  not  hear  it." 

"You  have  no  imagination." 

"I  have;  but  I  smother  it." 

"Possibly.  I  have  suspected  you  of  hiding  your 
merits,  and  particularly  from  me." 

"Why  should  I  conceal  my  merits  from  you?" 

"'Why  should  I  conceal  my  merits'  is  good!"  said 
the  Marquise,  ironically.  "Why?  Out  of  charity, 
Monsieur,  not  to  dazzle  me,  and  in  regard  for  my  re- 
pose! You  are  really  too  good,  I  assure  you.  Here 
comes  the  rain." 

Large  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall  on  the  dry  leaves, 
and  on  the  yellow  sand  of  the  alley.  The  day  was 
dying,  and  the  sudden  shower  bent  the  boughs  of  the 
trees. 

"We  must  return,"  said  the  young  woman;  "this 
begins  to  get  serious." 

She  took,  in  haste,  the  path  which  led  to  the  cha- 
teau; but  after  a  few  steps  a  bright  flash  broke  over 
her  head,  the  noise  of  the  thunder  resounded,  and  a 
deluge  of  rain  fell  upon  the  fields. 

There  was  fortunately,  near  by,  a  shelter  in  which 
the  Marquise  and  her  companion  could  take  refuge. 
It  was  a  ruin,  preserved  as  an  ornament  to  the  park, 
which  had  formerly  been  the  chapel  of  the  ancient 

[189] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

ch&teau.  It  was  almost  as  large  as  the  village  chapel 
—the  broken  walls  half  concealed  under  a  thick  mantle 
of  ivy.  Its  branches  had  pushed  through  the  roof  and 
mingled  with  the  boughs  of  the  old  trees  which  sur- 
rounded and  shaded  it.  The  timbers  had  disappeared. 
The  extremity  of  the  choir,  and  the  spot  formerly  occu- 
pied by  the  altar,  were  alone  covered  by  the  remains  of 
the  roof.  Wheelbarrows,  rakes,  spades,  and  other  gar- 
den tools  were  piled  there. 

The  Marquise  had  to  take  refuge  in  the  midst  of 
this  rubbish,  in  the  narrow  space,  and  her  companion 
followed  her. 

The  storm,  in  the  mean  time,  increased  in  violence. 
The  rain  fell  in  torrents  through  the  old  walls,  inun- 
dating the  soil  in  the  ancient  nave.  The  lightning 
flashed  incessantly.  Every  now  and  then  fragments  of 
earth  and  stone  detached  themselves  from  the  roof, 
and  fell  into  the  choir. 

"I  find  this  magnificent!"  said  Madame  de  Camp- 
vallon. 

"I  also,"  said  Camors,  raising  his  eyes  to  the  crumb- 
ling roof  which  half  protected  them;  "but  I  do  not 
know  whether  we  are  safe  here!" 

"If  you  fear,  you  would  better  go!"  said  the  Mar- 
quise. 

"I  fear  for  you." 

"You  are  too  good,  I  assure  you." 

She  took  off  her  cap  and  brushed  it  with  her  glove, 
to  remove  the  drops  of  rain  which  had  fallen  upon  it. 
After  a  slight  pause,  she  suddenly  raised  her  un- 
covered head  and  cast  on  Camors  one  of  those 

[190] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

searching  looks  which  prepares  a  man  for  an  important 
question. 

"Cousin!"  she  said,  "if  you  were  sure  that  one  of 
these  flashes  of  lightning  would  kill  you  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  what  would  you  do?" 

"Why,  cousin,  naturally  I  should  take  a  last  farewell 
of  you." 

"How?" 

He  regarded  her  steadily,  in  his  turn.  "Do  you 
know,"  he  said,  "there  are  moments  when  I  am  tempted 
to  think  you  a  devil?" 

"Truly!  Well,  there  are  times  when  I  am  tempted 
to  think  so  myself — for  example,  at  this  moment.  Do 
you  know  what  I  should  wish  ?  I  wish  I  could  control 
the  lightning,  and  in  two  seconds  you  would  cease  to 
exist." 

"For  what  reason?" 

"Because  I  recollect  there  was  a  man  to  whom  I 
offered  myself,  and  who  refused  me,  and  that  this 
man  still  lives.  And  this  displeases  me  a  little — a 
great  deal — passionately." 

"Are  you  serious,  Madame?"  replied  Camors. 

She  laughed. 

"I  hope  you  did  not  think  so.  I  am  not  so  wicked. 
It  was  a  joke — and  in  bad  taste,  I  admit.  But  seri- 
ously now,  cousin,  what  is  your  opinion  of  me?  What 
kind  of  woman  has  time  made  me?" 

"I  swear  to  you  I  am  entirely  ignorant." 

"Admitting  I  had  become,  as  you  did  me  the  honor 
to  suppose,  a  diabolical  person,  do  you  think  you  had 
nothing  to  do  with  it  ?  Tell  me !  Do  you  not  believe 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

that  there  is  in  the  life  of  a  woman  a  decisive  hour, 
when  the  evil  seed  which  is  cast  upon  her  soul  may 
produce  a  terrible  harvest?  Do  you  not  believe  this? 
Answer  me !  And  should  I  not  be  excusable  if  I  enter- 
tained toward  you  the  sentiment  of  an  exterminating 
angel;  and  have  I  not  some  merit  in  being  what  I  am 
—a  good  woman,  who  loves  you  well — with  a  little 
rancor,  but  not  much — and  who  wishes  you  all  sorts 
of  prosperity  in  this  world  and  the  next?  Do  not 
answer  me:  it  might  embarrass  you,  and  it  would  be 
useless." 

She  left  her  shelter,  and  turned  her  face  toward  the 
lowering  sky  to  see  whether  the  storm  was  over. 

"It  has  stopped  raining,"  she  said,  "let  us  go." 

She  then  perceived  that  the  lower  part  of  the  nave 
had  been  transformed  into  a  lake  of  mud  and  water. 
She  stopped  at  its  brink,  and  uttered  a  little  cry : 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  said,  looking  at  her  light 
shoes.  Then,  turning  toward  Camors,  she  added, 
laughing: 

"Monsieur,  will  you  get  me  a  boat?" 

Camors,  himself,  recoiled  from  stepping  into  the 
greasy  mud  and  stagnant  water  which  filled  the  whole 
space  of  the  nave. 

"If  you  will  wait  a  little,"  he  said,  "I  shall  find  you 
some  boots  or  sabots,  no  matter  what." 

"It  will  be  much  easier,"  she  said  abruptly,  "for  you 
to  carry  me  to  the  door;"  and  without  waiting  for  the 
young  man's  reply,  she  tucked  up  her  skirts  carefully, 
and  when  she  had  finished,  she  said,  "Carry  me!" 

He  looked  at  her  with  astonishment,  and  thought  for 
[192] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

a  moment  she  was  jesting;  but  soon  saw  she  was  per- 
fectly serious. 

"Of  what  are  you  afraid?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  not  at  all  afraid,"  he  answered. 

"Is  it  that  you  are  not  strong  enough?" 

"Mon  Dieu!  I  should  think  I  was." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms,  as  in  a  cradle,  while  she 
held  up  her  skirts  with  both  hands.  He  then  descended 
the  steps  and  moved  toward  the  door  with  his  strange 
burden.  He  was  obliged  to  be  very  careful  not  to  slip 
on  the  wet  earth,  and  this  absorbed  him  during  the  first 
few  steps;  but  when  he  found  his  footing  more  sure,  he 
felt  a  natural  curiosity  to  observe  the  countenance  of 
the  Marquise. 

The  uncovered  head  of  the  young  woman  rested  a 
little  on  the  arm  with  which  he  held  her.  Her  lips 
were  slightly  parted  with  a  half-wicked  smile  that 
showed  her  fine  white  teeth;  the  same  expression  of 
ungovernable  malice  burned  in  her  dark  eyes,  which 
she  riveted  for  some  seconds  on  those  of  Camors  with 
persistent  penetration — then  suddenly  veiled  them 
under  the  fringe  of  her  dark  lashes.  This  glance  sent 
a  thrill  like  lightning  to  his  very  marrow. 

"Do  you  wish  to  drive  me  mad?"  he  murmured. 

"Who  knows?"  she  replied. 

The  same  moment  she  disengaged  herself  from  his 
arms,  and  placing  her  foot  on  the  ground  again,  left 
the  ruin. 

They  reached   the   chateau   without   exchanging  a 
word.     Just    before    entering    the    house    the    young 
Marquise  turned  toward  Camors  and  said  to  him; 
'3  I X93  ] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Be  sure  that  at  heart  I  am  very  good,  really." 

Notwithstanding  this  assertion,  Camors  was  yet  more 
determined  to  leave  the  next  morning,  as  he  had  pre- 
viously decided.  He  carried  away  the  most  painful 
impression  of  the  scene  of  that  evening. 

She  had  wounded  his  pride,  inflamed  his  hopeless 
passion,  and  disquieted  his  honor. 

"What  is  this  woman,  and  what  does  she  want  of 
me?  Is  it  love  or  vengeance  that  inspires  her  with 
this  fiendish  coquetry?"  he  asked  himself.  Whatever 
it  was,  Camors  was  not  such  a  novice  in  similar  adven- 
tures as  not  to  perceive  clearly  the  yawning  abyss  under 
the  broken  ice.  He  resolved  sincerely  to  close  it  again 
between  them,  and  forever.  The  best  way  to  succeed 
in  this,  avowedly,  was  to  cease  all  intercourse  with  the 
Marquise.  But  how  could  such  conduct  be  explained 
to  the  General,  without  awakening  his  suspicion  and 
lowering  his  wife  in  his  esteem?  That  plan  was  im- 
possible. He  armed  himself  with  all  his  courage,  and 
resigned  himself  to  endure  with  resolute  soul  all  the 
trials  which  the  love,  real  or  pretended,  of  the  Marquise 
reserved  for  him. 

He  had  at  this  time  a  singular  idea.  He  was  a 
member  of  several  of  the  most  aristocratic  clubs.  He 
organized  a  chosen  group  of  men  from  the  elite  of  his 
companions,  and  formed  with  them  a  secret  associa- 
tion, of  which  the  object  was  to  fix  and  maintain 
among  its  members  the  principles  and  points  of  honor 
in  their  strictest  form.  This  society,  which  had  only 
been  vaguely  spoken  of  in  public  under  the  name  of 
des  Raffints,"  and  also  as  "The  Templars"- 
[J94] 


MONSIEUR  I)E  CAMORS 

which  latter  was  its  true  name — had  nothing  in  common 
with  "The  Devourers,"  illustrated  by  Balzac.  It  had 
nothing  in  it  of  a  romantic  or  dramatic  character. 
Those  who  composed  this  club  did  not,  in  any  way, 
defy  ordinary  morals,  nor  set  themselves  above  the 
laws  of  their  country.  They  did  not  bind  themselves 
by  any  vows  of  mutual  aid  in  extremity.  They  bound 
themselves  simply  by  their  word  of  honor  to  observe, 
in  their  reciprocal  relations,  the  rules  of  purest  honor. 

These  rules  were  specified  in  their  code.  The  text  it 
is  difficult  to  give;  but  it  was  based  entirely  on  the  point 
of  honor,  and  regulated  the  affairs  of  the  club,  such  as 
the  card-table,  the  turf,  duelling,  and  gallantry.  For 
example,  any  member  was  disqualified  from  belonging 
to  this  association  who  either  insulted  or  interfered 
with  the  wife  or  relative  of  one  of  his  colleagues.  The 
only  penalty  was  exclusion:  but  the  consequences  of 
this  exclusion  were  grave;  for  all  the  members  ceased 
thereafter  to  associate  with,  recognize,  or  even  bow  to 
the  offender.  The  Templars  found  in  this  secret  so- 
ciety many  advantages.  It  was  a  great  security  in  their 
intercourse  with  one  another,  and  in  the  different  cir- 
cumstances of  daily  life,  where  they  met  continually 
either  at  the  opera,  in  salons,  or  on  the  turf. 

Camors  was  an  exception  among  his  companions 
and  rivals  in  Parisian  life  by  the  systematic  decision 
of  his  doctrine.  It  was  not  so  much  an  embodiment  of 
absolute  scepticism  and  practical  materialism ;  but  the 
want  of  a  moral  law  is  so  natural  to  man,  and  obedience 
to  higher  laws  so  sweet  to  him,  that  the  chosen  adepts 
to  whom  the  project  of  Camors  was  submitted  accepted 

[i95] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

it  with  enthusiasm.  They  were  happy  in  being  able  to 
substitute  a  sort  of  positive  and  formal  religion  for  re- 
straints so  limited  as  their  own  confused  and  floating 
notions  of  honor.  For  Camors  himself,  as  is  easily 
understood,  it  was  a  new  barrier  which  he  wished  to 
erect  between  himself  and  the  passion  which  fascinated 
him.  He  attached  himself  to  this  with  redoubled  force, 
as  the  only  moral  bond  yet  left  him.  He  completed 
his  work  by  making  the  General  accept  the  title  of 
President  of  the  Association.  The  General,  to  whom 
Honor  was  a  sort  of  mysterious  but  real  goddess,  was 
delighted  to  preside  over  the  worship  of  his  idol.  He 
felt  flattered  by  his  young  friend's  selection,  and  es- 
teemed him  the  more. 

It  was  the  middle  of  winter.  The  Marquise  Camp- 
vallon  had  resumed  for  some  time  her  usual  course 
of  life,  which  was  at  the  same  time  strict  but  elegant. 
Punctual  at  church  every  morning,  at  the  Bois  and 
at  charity  bazaars  during  the  day,  at  the  opera  or  the 
theatres  in  the  evening,  she  had  received  M.  de  Ca- 
mors without  the  shadow  of  apparent  emotion.  She 
even  treated  him  more  simply  and  more  naturally 
than  ever,  with  no  recurrence  to  the  past,  no  allusion 
to  the  scene  in  the  park  during  the  storm;  as  if  she 
had,  on  that  day,  disclosed  everything  that  had  lain 
hidden  in  her  heart.  This  conduct  so  much  resembled 
indifference,  that  Camors  should  have  been  delighted; 
but  he  was  not— on  the  contrary  he  was  annoyed  by  it. 
A  cruel  but  powerful  interest,  already  too  dear  to  his 
blasg  soul,  was  disappearing  thus  from  his  life.  He 
was  inclined  to  believe  that  Madame  de  Campvallon 

[196] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

possessed  a  much  less  complicated  character  than  he 
had  fancied;  and  that  little  by  little  absorbed  in  daily 
trifles,  she  had  become  in  reality  what  she  pretended  to  be 
—a  good  woman,  inoffensive,  and  contented  with  her  lot. 

He  was  one  evening  in  his  orchestra-stall  at  the 
opera.  They  were  singing  The  Huguenots.  The 
Marquise  occupied  her  box  between  the  columns. 
The  numerous  acquaintances  Camors  met  in  the  pas- 
sages during  the  first  entr'acte  prevented  his  going  as 
soon  as  usual  to  pay  his  respects  to  his  cousin.  At 
last,  after  the  fourth  act,  he  went  to  visit  her  in  her 
box,  where  he  found  her  alone,  the  General  having 
descended  to  the  parterre  for  a  few  moments.  He  was 
astonished,  on  entering,  to  find  traces  of  tears  on  the 
young  woman's  cheeks.  Her  eyes  were  even  moist. 
She  seemed  displeased  at  being  surprised  in  the  very 
act  of  sentimentality. 

"Music  always  excites  my  nerves,"  she  said. 

"Indeed!"  said  Camors.  "You,  who  always  re- 
proach me  with  hiding  my  merits,  why  do  you  hide 
yours?  If  you  are  still  capable  of  weeping,  so  much 
the  better." 

"No!  I  claim  no  merit  for  that.  Oh,  heavens!  If 
you  only  knew!  It  is  quite  the  contrary." 

"What  a  mystery  you  are!" 

"Are  you  very  curious  to  fathom  this  mystery? 
Only  that?  Very  well — be  happy!  It  is  time  to  put 
an  end  to  this." 

She  drew  her  chair  from  the  front  of  the  box  out  of 
public  view,  and,  turning  toward  Camors,  continued: 
"You  wish  to  know  what  I  am,  what  I  feel,  and  what 

[i97] 


OGTAVE  FEUILLET 

I  think;  or  rather,  you  wish  to  know  simply  whether 
I  dream  of  love?  Very  well,  I  dream  only  of  that! 
Have  I  lovers,  or  have  I  not  ?  I  have  none,  and  never 
shall  have,  but  that  will  not  be  because  of  my  virtue. 
I  believe  in  nothing,  except  my  own  self-esteem  and 
my  contempt  of  others.  The  little  intrigues,  the  petty 
passions,  which  I  see  in  the  world,  make  me  indignant 
to  the  bottom  of  my  soul.  It  seems  to  me  that  women 
who  give  themselves  for  so  little  must  be  base  creat- 
ures. As  for  myself,  I  remember  having  said  to  you 
one  day — it  is  a  million  years  since  then! — that  my 
person  is  sacred  to  me;  and  to  commit  a  sacrilege  I 
should  wish,  like  the  vestals  of  Rome,  a  love  as  great 
as  my  crime,  and  as  terrible  as  death.  I  wept  just 
now  during  that  magnificent  fourth  act.  It  was  not 
because  I  listened  to  the  most  marvellous  music  ever 
heard  on  this  earth;  it  was  because  I  admire  and 
envy  passionately  the  superb  and  profound  love  of 
that  time.  And  it  is  ever  thus — when  I  read  the  his- 
tory of  the  glorious  sixteenth  century,  I  am  in  ecstacies. 
How  well  those  people  knew  how  to  love  and  how  to 
die!  One  night  of  love — then  death.  That  is  de- 
lightful. Now,  cousin,  you  must  leave  me.  We  are 
observed.  They  will  believe  we  love  each  other,  and 
as  we  have  not  that  pleasure,  it  is  useless  to  incur  the 
penalties.  Since  I  am  still  in  the  midst  of  the  court 
of  Charles  Tenth,  I  pity  you,  with  your  black  coat 
and  round  hat.  Good-night." 

"I  thank  you  very  much,"  replied  Camors,  taking 
the  hand  she  extended  to  him  coldly,  and  left  the  box. 
He  met  M.  dc  Campvallon  in  the  passage. 

[198] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

" Parbleu'.  my  dear  friend,"  said  the  General,  seiz- 
ing him  by  the  arm.  "I  must  communicate  to  you 
an  idea  which  has  been  in  my  brain  all  the  eve- 
ning." 

"What  idea,  General?" 

"Well,  there  are  here  this  evening  a  number  of 
charming  young  girls.  This  set  me  to  thinking  of  you, 
and  I  even  said  to  my  wife  that  we  must  marry  you  to 
one  of  these  young  women!" 

"Oh,  General!" 

"Well,  why  not?" 

"That  is  a  very  serious  thing — if  one  makes  a  mis- 
take in  his  choice — that  is  everything." 

"Bah!  it  is  not  so  difficult  a  thing.  Take  a  wife 
like  mine,  who  has  a  great  deal  of  religion,  not  much 
imagination,  and  no  fancies.  That  is  the  whole  se- 
cret. I  tell  you  this  in  confidence,  my  dear  fellow!" 

"Well,  General,  I  will  think  of  it." 

"Do  think  of  it,"  said  the  General,  in  a  serious 
tone;  and  went  to  join  his  young  wife,  whom  he  under- 
stood so  well. 

As  to  her,  she  thoroughly  understood  herself,  and 
analyzed  her  own  character  with  surprising  truth. 

Madame  de  Campvallon  was  just  as  little  what  her 
manner  indicated  as  was  M.  de  Camors  on  his  side. 
Both  were  altogether  exceptional  in  French  society. 
Equally  endowed  by  nature  with  energetic  souls  and 
enlightened  minds,  both  carried  innate  depravity  to  a 
high  degree.  The  artificial  atmosphere  of  high  Paris- 
ian civilization  destroys  in  women  the  sentiment  and 
the  taste  for  duty,  and  leaves  them  nothing  but  the 

['99] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

sentiment  and  the  taste  for  pleasure.  They  lose  in 
the  midst  of  this  enchanted  and  false  life,  like  theat- 
rical fairyland,  the  true  idea  of  life  in  general,  and 
Christian  life  in  particular.  And  we  can  confidently 
affirm  that  all  those  who  do  not  make  for  themselves, 
apart  from  the  crowd,  a  kind  of  Thebaid — and  there 
are  such — are  pagans.  They  are  pagans,  because  the 
pleasures  of  the  senses  and  of  the  mind  alone  interest 
them,  and  they  have  not  once,  during  the  year,  an  im- 
pression of  the  moral  law,  unless  the  sentiment,  which 
some  of  them  detest,  recalls  it  to  them.  They  are 
pagans,  like  the  beautiful,  worldly  Catholics  of  the 
fifteenth  century — loving  luxury,  rich  stuffs,  precious 
furniture,  literature,  art,  themselves,  and  love.  They 
were  charming  pagans,  like  Marie  Stuart,  and  capa- 
ble, like  her,  of  remaining  true  Catholics  even  under 
the  axe. 

We  are  speaking,  let  it  be  understood,  of  the  best  of 
the  elite — of  those  that  read,  and  of  those  that  dream. 
As  to  the  rest,  those  who  participate  in  the  Parisian 
life  on  its  lighter  side,  in  its  childish  whirl,  and  the 
trifling  follies  it  entails,  who  make  rendezvous,  waste 
their  time,  who  dress  and  are  busy  day  and  night 
doing  nothing,  who  dance  frantically  in  the  rays  of  the 
Parisian  sun,  without  thought,  without  passion,  with- 
out virtue,  and  even  without  vice — we  must  own  it  is 
impossible  to  imagine  anything  more  contemptible. 

The  Marquise  de  Campvallon  was  then — as  she 
truly  said  to  the  man  she  resembled — a  great  pagan; 
and,  as  she  also  said  to  herself  in  one  of  her  serious 
moments  when  a  woman's  destiny  is  decided  by  the 

[  200  ] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

influence  of  those  they  love,  Camors  had  sown  in  her 
heart  a  seed  which  had  marvellously  fructified. 

Camors  dreamed  little  of  reproaching  himself  for  it, 
but  struck  with  all  the  harmony  that  surrounded  the 
Marquise,  he  regretted  more  bitterly  than  ever  the 
fatality  which  separated  them. 

He  felt,  however,  more  sure  of  himself,  since  he  had 
bound  himself  by  the  strictest  obligations  of  honor. 
He  abandoned  himself  from  this  moment  with  less 
scruple  to  the  emotions,  and  to  the  danger  against 
which  he  believed  himself  invincibly  protected.  He 
did  not  fear  to  seek  often  the  society  of  his  beautiful 
cousin,  and  even  contracted  the  habit  of  repairing  to 
her  house  two  or  three  times  a  week,  after  leaving  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies.  Whenever  he  found  her  alone, 
their  conversation  invariably  assumed  a  tone  of  irony 
and  of  raillery,  in  which  both  excelled.  He  had  not 
forgotten  her  reckless  confidences  at  the  opera,  and 
recalled  it  to  her,  asking  her  whether  she  had  yet  dis- 
covered that  hero  of  love  for  whom  she  was  looking, 
who  should  be,  according  to  her  ideas,  a  villain  like 
Bothwell,  or  a  musician  like  Rizzio. 

"There  are,"  she  replied,  "villains  who  are  also 
musicians;  but  that  is  imagination.  Sing  me,  then, 
something  apropos." 

It  was  near  the  close  of  winter.  The  Marquise 
gave  a  ball.  Her  fetes  were  justly  renowned  for  their 
magnificence  and  good  taste.  She  did  the  honors 
with  the  grace  of  a  queen.  This  evening  she  wore  a 
very  simple  costume,  as  was  becoming  in  the  courte- 
ous hostess.  It  was  a  gown  of  dark  velvet,  with  a 

[201] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

train;  her  arms  were  bare,  without  jewels;  a  neck- 
lace of  large  pearls  lay  on  her  rose-tinted  bosom,  and 
the  heraldic  coronet  sparkled  on  her  fair  hair. 

Camors  caught  her  eye  as  he  entered,  as  if  she 
were  watching  for  him.  He  had  seen  her  the  previous 
evening,  and  they  had  had  a  more  lively  skirmish 
than  usual.  He  was  struck  by  her  brilliancy — her 
beauty  heightened,  without  doubt,  by  the  secret  ardor 
of  the  quarrel,  as  if  illuminated  by  an  interior  flame, 
with  all  the  clear,  soft  splendor  of  a  transparent  ala- 
baster vase. 

When  he  advanced  to  join  her  and  salute  her,  yield- 
ing, against  his  will,  to  an  involuntary  movement  of 
passionate  admiration,  he  said: 

"You  are  truly  beautiful  this  evening.  Enough  so 
to  make  one  commit  a  crime." 

She  looked  fixedly  in  his  eyes,  and  replied: 

"I  should  like  to  see  that,"  and  then  left  him,  with 
superb  nonchalance. 

The  General  approached,  and  tapping  the  Count  on 
the  shoulder,  said: 

" Camors!  you  do  not  dance,  as  usual.  Let  us  play 
a  game  of  piquet." 

"Willingly,  General;"  and  traversing  two  or  three 
salons  they  reached  the  private  boudoir  of  the  Mar- 
quise. It  was  a  small  oval  room,  very  lofty,  hung 
with  thick  red  silk  tapestry,  covered  with  black  and 
white  flowers.  As  the  doors  were  removed,  two 
heavy  curtains  isolated  the  room  completely  from  the 
neighboring  gallery.  It  was  there  that  the  General 
usually  played  cards  and  slept  during  his  fetes.  A 

[  202  ] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

small  card-table  was  placed  before  a  divan.  Except 
this  addition,  the  boudoir  preserved  its  every-day  as- 
pect. Woman's  work,  half  finished,  books,  journals, 
and  reviews  were  strewn  upon  the  furniture.  They 
played  two  or  three  games,  which  the  General  won, 
as  Camors  was  very  abstracted. 

"I  reproach  myself,  young  man,"  said  the  former, 
"in  having  kept  you  so  long  away  from  the  ladies. 
I  give  you  back  your  liberty — I  shall  cast  my  eye  on 
the  journals." 

"There  is  nothing  new  in  them,  I  think,"  said  Ca- 
mors, rising.  He  took  up  a  newspaper  himself,  and 
placing  his  back  against  the  mantelpiece,  warmed  his 
feet,  one  after  the  other.  The  General  threw  himself 
on  the  divan,  ran  his  eye  over  the  Moniteur  de  VArmee, 
approving  of  some  military  promotions,  and  criticising 
others;  and,  little  by  little,  he  fell  into  a  doze,  his  head 
resting  on  his  chest. 

But  Camors  was  not  reading.  He  listened  vaguely 
to  the  music  of  the  orchestra,  and  fell  .into  a  reverie. 
Through  these  harmonies,  through  the  murmurs  and 
\varm  perfume  of  the  ball,  he  followed,  in  thought,  all 
the  evolutions  of  her  who  was  mistress  and  queen  of 
all.  He  saw  her  proud  and  supple  step — he  heard  her 
grave  and  musical  voice — he  felt  her  breath. 

This  young  man  had  exhausted  everything.  Love 
and  pleasure  had  no  longer  for  him  secrets  or  tempta- 
tions; but  his  imagination,  cold  and  blast,  had  arisen 
all  inflamed  before  this  beautiful,  living,  palpitating 
statue.  She  was  really  for  him  more  than  a  woman 
—more  than  a  mortal.  The  antique  fables  of  amorous 


OCTAVA  FEUILLET 

goddesses  and  drunken  Bacchantes — the  superhuman 
voluptuousness  unknown  in  terrestrial  pleasures — were 
in  reach  of  his  hand,  separated  from  him  only  by  the 
shadow  of  this  sleeping  old  man.  But  a  shadow  was 
ever  between  them — it  was  honor. 

His  eyes,  as  if  lost  in  thought,  were  fixed  straight 
before  him  on  the  curtain  opposite  the  chimney.  Sud- 
denly this  curtain  was  noiselessly  raised,  and  the  young 
Marquise  appeared,  her  brow  surmounted  by  her  cor- 
onet. She  threw  a  rapid  glance  over  the  boudoir,  and 
after  a  moment's  pause,  let  the  curtain  fall  gently,  and 
advanced  directly  toward  Camors,  who  stood  dazzled 
and  immovable.  She  took  both  his  hands,  without 
speaking,  looked  at  his  steadily — throwing  a  rapid 
glance  at  her  husband,  who  still  slept — and,  standing 
on  tiptoe,  offered  her  lips  to  the  young  man. 

Bewildered,  and  forgetting  all  else,  he  bent,  and 
imprinted  a  kiss  on  her  lips. 

At  that  very  moment,  the  General  made  a  sudden 
movement  and  woke  up;  but  the  same  instant  the 
Marquise  was  standing  before  him,  her  hands  resting 
on  the  card-table;  and  smiling  upon  him,  she  said, 
"Good-morning,  my  General!" 

The  General  murmured  a  few  words  of  apol- 
ogy, but  she  laughingly  pushed  him  back  on  his 
divan. 

"Continue  your  nap,"  she  said;  "I  have  come  in 
search  of  my  cousin,  for  the  last  cotillon."  The  Gen- 
eral obeyed. 

She  passed  out  by  the  gallery.  The  young  man, 
pale  as  a  spectre,  followed  her. 

[204] 


hot  throwing  a  rapid 

.   and  offered 

.  <T  lips  I')  the   <}i\une  man. 


OCTAVA  FEVILLET 

goddesses  and  drunken  Bacchantes,—  the  superhuman 
voluptuousness  unknown  in  terrestrial  pleasures  —  were 
in  reach  of  his  hand,  separated  from  him  only  by  the 
shadow  of  this  sleeping  old  man.  But  a  shadow  was 
ever  between  them  —  it  was  honor. 

His  eyes,  as  if  lost  in  thought,  were  fixed  straight 
before  him  on  the  curtain  opposite  the.  chimney.  Sud- 
denly this  curtain  was  noiselessly  raised,  and  the  young 
Marquise  appeared,  her  brow  surmounted  by  her  cor- 
onet. She  threw  a  rapid  glance  over  the  boudoir,  and 
after  a  moment's  pause,  let  the  curtain  fall  gently,  and 


and 

speaking,  looi^  ^$|  If^^t^wing  a  rapid 
glanrt  at  "her  husband,  who  stilt  slept  —  and,  standing 
.on  tiptoe,  of&«<Wfc**H^^ 

Bewildered,  and  forgetting  all  else,  he  bent,  and 
imprinted  a  kiss  on  her  lips. 

At  that  very  moment,  the.  General  made  a  sudden 
movement  and  woke  up;  but  the  same  instant  the 
Marquise  was  standing  before  him,  her  hands  resting 
on  the  card-table;  and  smiling  upon  him,  she  said, 
"Good-morning,  my  GeneraJ-' 

The  General  murmur  <«1  a  few  words  of  apol- 
ogy, but  she  laughingly  "pushed  him  back  on  his 
divan. 

"Continue  your  nap,''  she  said;  "I  have  come  in 
search  of  my  cousin,  for  the  last  cotillon."  The  Gen- 
emi  obeyed. 

>r*>  passed  out  by  the  gallery.  The  young  man, 
pa>  as  a  spectre,  followed  her: 

[204] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

Passing  under  the  curtain,  she  turned  toward  him 
with  a  wild  light  burning  in  her  eyes.  Then,  before 
she  was  lost  in  the  throng,  she  whispered,  in  a  low, 
thrilling  voice: 

"There  is  the  crime!" 


[205] 


THE   FIRST  ACT   OF   THE   TRAGEDY 

AMORS  did  not  attempt  to  rejoin  the 
Marquise,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
she  also  avoided  him.  A  quarter  of 
an  hour  later,  he  left  the  Hotel  Camp- 
vallon. 

He  returned  immediately  home.  A 
lamp  was  burning  in  his  chamber. 
When  he  saw  himself  in  the  mirror, 
his  own  face  terrified  him.  This  exciting  scene  had 
shaken  his  nerves. 

He  could  no  longer  control  himself.  His  pupil  had 
become  his  master.  The  fact  itself  did  not  surprise 
him.  Woman  is  more  exalted  than  man  in  morality. 
There  is  no  virtue,  no  devotion,  no  heroism  in  which 
she  does  not  surpass  him;  but  once  impelled  to  the 
verge  of  the  abyss,  she  falls  faster  and  lower  than  man. 
This  is  attributable  to  two  causes:  she  has  more  pas- 
sion, and  she  has  no  honor.  For  honor  is  a  reality  and 
must  not  be  underrated.  It  is  a  noble,  delicate,  and 
salutary  quality.  It  elevates  manly  attributes;  in  fact, 
it  constitutes  the  modesty  of  man.  It  is  sometimes  a 
force,  and  always  a  grace.  But  to  think  that  honor  is 
all-sufficient;  that  in  the  face  of  great  interests,  great 
passions,  great  trials  in  life,  it  is  a  support  and  an  in- 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

fallible  defence;  that  it  can  enforce  the  precepts  which 
come  from  God — in  fact  that  it  can  replace  God — this 
is  a  terrible  mistake.  It  exposes  one  in  a  fatal  moment 
to  the  loss  of  one's  self-esteem,  and  to  fall  suddenly  and 
forever  into  that  dismal  ocean  of  bitterness  where 
Camors  at  that  instant  was  struggling  in  despair,  like 
a  drowning  man  in  the  darkness  of  midnight. 

He  abandoned  himself,  on  this  evil  night,  to  a  final 
conflict  full  of  agony;  and  he  was  beaten. 

The  next  evening  at  six  o'clock  he  was  at  the  house 
of  the  Marquise.  He  found  her  in  her  boudoir,  sur- 
rounded by  all  her  regal  luxury.  She  was  half  buried 
in  a  fauteuil  in  the  chimney-corner,  looking  a  little  pale 
and  fatigued.  She  received  him  with  her  usual  coldness 
and  self-possession. 

"Good-day,"  she  said.    "How  are  you?" 

"Not  very  well,"  replied  Camors. 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"I  fancy  that  you  know." 

She  opened  her  large  eyes  wide  with  surprise,  but 
did  not  reply. 

"I  entreat  you,  Madame,"  continued  Camors,  smil- 
ing— "no  more  music,  the  curtain  is  raised,  and  the 
drama  has  begun." 

"Ah!  we  shall  see." 

"Do  you  love  me?"  he  continued;  "or  were  you 
simply  acting,  to  try  me,  last  night  ?  Can  you,  or  will 
you,  tell  me?" 

"I  certainly  could,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  do  so," 

"I  had  thought  you  more  frank." 

"I  have  my  hours." 

[207] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Well,  then,"  said  Camors,  "if  your  hours  of  frank- 
ness have  passed,  mine  have  begun." 

"That  would  be  compensation,"  she  replied. 

"And  I  will  prove  it  to  you,"  continued  Camors. 

"I  shall  make  a  fete  of  it,"  said  the  Marquise,  throw- 
ing herself  back  on  the  sofa,  as  if  to  make  herself  com- 
fortable in  order  to  enjoy  an  agreeable  conversation. 

"I  love  you,  Madame;  and  as  you  wish  to  be  loved. 
I  love  you  devotedly  and  unto  death — enough  to  kill 
myself,  or  you!" 

"That  is  well,"  said  the  Marquise,  softly. 

"But,"  he  continued  in  a  hoarse  and  constrained 
tone,  "in  loving  you,  in  telling  you  of  it,  in  trying  to 
make  you  share  my  love,  I  violate  basely  the  obligations 
of  honor  of  which  you  know,  and  others  of  which  you 
know  not.  It  is  a  crime,  as  you  have  said.  I  do  not  try 
to  extenuate  my  offence.  I  see  it,  I  judge  it,  and  I 
accept  it.  I  break  the  last  moral  tie  that  is  left  me; 
I  leave  the  ranks  of  men  of  honor,  and  I  leave  also  the 
ranks  of  humanity.  I  have  nothing  human  left  except 
my  love,  nothing  sacred  but  you ;  but  my  crime  elevates 
itself  by  its  magnitude.  Well,  I  interpret  it  thus:  I 
imagine  two  beings,  equally  free  and  strong,  loving  and 
valuing  each  other  beyond  all  else,  having  no  affection, 
no  loyalty,  no  devotion,  no  honor,  except  toward  each 
other — but  possessing  all  for  each  other  in  a  supreme 
degree. 

"  I  give  and  consecrate  absolutely  to  you,  my  person, 
all  that  I  can  be,  or  may  become,  on  condition  of  an 
equal  return,  still  preserving  the  same  social  conven- 
tionalities, without  which  we  should  both  be  miserable. 

[MB] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"Secretly  united,  and  secretly  isolated;  though  in 
the  midst  of  the  human  herd,  governing  and  despising 
it ;  uniting  our  gifts,  our  faculties,  and  our  powers,  our 
two  Parisian  royalties — yours,  which  can  not  be  greater, 
and  mine,  which  shall  become  greater  if  you  love  me — 
and  living  thus,  one  for  the  other,  until  death.  You 
have  dreamed,  you  told  me,  of  strange  and  almost  sacri- 
legious love.  Here  it  is;  only  before  accepting  it,  re- 
flect well,  for  I  assure  you  it  is  a  serious  thing.  My  love 
for  you  is  boundless.  I  love  you  enough  to  disdain  and 
trample  under  foot  that  which  the  meanest  human  be- 
ing still  respects.  I  love  you  enough  to  find  in  you  alone, 
in  your  single  esteem,  and  in  your  sole  tenderness,  in 
the  pride  and  madness  of  being  yours,  oblivion  and  con- 
solation for  friendship  outraged,  faith  betrayed,  and 
honor  lost.  But,  Madame,  this  is  a  sentiment  which 
you  will  do  well  not  to  trifle  with.  You  should  thor- 
oughly understand  this.  If  you  desire  my  love,  if  you 
consent  to  this  alliance,  opposed  to  all  human  laws,  but 
grand  and  singular  also,  deign  to  tell  me  so,  and  I  shall 
fall  at  your  feet.  If  you  do  not  wish  it,  if  it  terrifies  you, 
if  you  are  not  prepared  for  the  double  obligation  it  in- 
volves, tell  me  so,  and  fear  not  a  word  of  reproach. 
Whatever  it  might  cost  me — I  would  ruin  my  life,  I 
would  leave  you  forever,  and  that  which  passed  yester- 
day should  be  eternally  forgotten." 

He  ceased,  and  remained  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
young  woman  with  a  burning  anxiety.  As  he  went  on 
speaking  her  air  became  more  grave;  she  listened  to 
him,  her  head  a  little  inclined  toward  him  in  an  attitude 
of  overpowering  interest,  throwing  upon  him  at  inter- 
14  [  209  ] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

vftls  a  glance  full  of  gloomy  fire.  A  slight  but  rapid  pal- 
pitation of  the  bosom,  a  scarcely  perceptible  quivering 
of  the  nostrils,  alone  betrayed  the  storm  raging  within 
her. 

"This,"  she  said,  after  a  moment's  silence,  "becomes 
really  interesting;  but  you  do  not  intend  to  leave  this 
evening,  I  suppose?" 

"No,"  said  Camors. 

"Very  well,"  she  replied,  inclining  her  head  in  sign 
of  dismissal,  without  offering  her  hand;  "we  shall  see 
each  other  again." 

"But  when?" 

"At  an  early  day." 

He  thought  she  required  time  for  reflection,  a  little 
terrified  doubtless  by  the  monster  she  had  evoked;  he 
saluted  her  gravely  and  departed. 

The  next  day,  and  on  the  two  succeeding  days,  he 
vainly  presented  himself  at  her  door. 

The  Marquise  was  either  dining  out  or  dressing. 

It  was  for  Camors  a  whole  century  of  torment.  One 
thought  which  often  disquieted  him  revisited  him  with 
double  poignancy.  The  Marquise  did  not  love  him. 
She  only  wished  to  revenge  herself  for  the  past,  and 
after  disgracing  him  would  laugh  at  him.  She  had 
made  him  sign  the  contract,  and  then  had  escaped  him. 
In  the  midst  of  these  tortures  of  his  pride,  his  passion, 
instead  of  weakening,  increased. 

The  fourth  day  after  their  interview  he  did  not  go  to 
her  house.  He  hoped  to  meet  her  in  the  evening  at  the 
Viscountess  d'Oilly's,  where  he  usually  saw  her  every 
Friday.  This  lady  had  been  formerly  the  most  tender 

L2I°1 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

friend  of  the  Count's  father.  It  was  to  her  the  Count 
had  thought  proper  to  confide  the  education  of  his  son. 

Camors  had  preserved  for  her  a  kind  of  affection. 
She  was  an  amiable  woman,  whom  he  liked  and 
laughed  at. 

No  longer  young,  she  had  been  compelled  to  renounce 
gallantry,  which  had  been  the  chief  occupation  of  her 
youth,  and  never  having  had  much  taste  for  devotion, 
she  conceived  the  idea  of  having  a  salon.  She  received 
there  some  distinguished  men,  savants  and  artists,  who 
piqued  themselves  on  being  free-thinkers. 

The  Viscountess,  in  order  to  fit  herself  for  her  new 
position,  resolved  to  enlighten  herself.  She  attended 
public  lectures  and  conferences,  which  began  to  be 
fashionable.  She  spoke  easily  about  spontaneous  gen- 
eration. She  manifested  a  lively  surprise  when  Camors, 
who  delighted  in  tormenting  her,  deigned  to  inform  her 
that  men  were  descended  from  monkeys. 

"Now,  my  friend,"  she  said  to  him,  "I  can  not  really 
admit  that.  How  can  you  think  your  grandfather  was 
a  monkey,  you  who  are  so  handsome?" 

She  reasoned  on  everything  with  the  same  force. 

Although  she  boasted  of  being  a  sceptic,  sometimes 
in  the  morning  she  went  out,  concealed  by  a  thick  veil, 
and  entered  St.  Sulpice,  where  she  confessed  and  put 
herself  on  good  terms  with  God,  in  case  He  should  exist. 
She  was  rich  and  well  connected,  and  in  spite  of  the 
irregularities  of  her  youth,  the  best  people  visited  her 
house. 

Madame  de  Campvallon  jxTmitted  herself  to  be 
introduced  by  M.  de  Camors.  Madame  dc  la  Roche- 

[211] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Jugan  followed  her  there,  because  she  followed  her 
everywhere,  and  took  her  son  Sigismund.  On  this 
evening  the  reunion  was  small.  M.  de  Camors  had 
only  been  there  a  few  moments,  when  he  had  the  sat- 
isfaction of  seeing  the  General  and  the  Marquise  enter. 
She  tranquilly  expressed  to  him  her  regret  at  not  hav- 
ing been  at  home  the  preceding  day ;  but  it  was  impos- 
sible to  hope  for  a  more  decided  explanation  in  a  circle 
so  small,  and  under  the  vigilant  eye  of  Madame  de  la 
Roche- Jugan.  Camors  interrogated  vainly  the  face  of 
his  young  cousin.  It  was  as  beautiful  and  cold  as 
usual.  His  anxiety  increased ;  he  would  have  given  his 
life  at  that  moment  to  hear  her  say  one  word  of  love. 

The  Viscountess  liked  the  play  of  wit,  as  she  had 
little  herself.  They  played  at  her  house  such  little  games 
as  were  then  fashionable.  Those  little  games  are  not 
always  innocent,  as  we  shall  see. 

They  had  distributed  pencils,  pens,  and  packages  of 
paper — some  of  the  players  sitting  around  large  tables, 
and  some  in  separate  chairs — and  scratched  mysteri- 
ously, in  turn,  questions  and  answers.  During  this 
time  the  General  played  whist  with  Madame  de  la 
Roche- Jugan.  Madame  Campvallon  did  not  usually 
take  part  in  these  games,  as  they  fatigued  her.  Camors 
was  therefore  astonished  to  see  her  accept  the  pencil 
and  paper  offered  her. 

This  singularity  awakened  his  attention  and  put 
him  on  his  guard.  He  himself  joined  in  the  game,  con- 
trary to  his  custom,  and  even  charged  himself  with 
collecting  in  the  basket  the  small  notes  as  they  were 
written. 

[212] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

An  hour  passed  without  any  special  incident.  The 
treasures  of  'wit  were  dispensed.  The  most  delicate 
and  unexpected  questions — such  as,  "What  is  love?" 
"Do  you  think  that  friendship  can  exist  between  the 
sexes?"  "Is  it  sweeter  to  love  or  to  be  loved?" — suc- 
ceeded each  other  with  corresponding  replies.  All  at 
once  the  Marquise  gave  a  slight  scream,  and  they  saw 
a  drop  of  blood  trickle  down  her  forehead.  She  laughed, 
and  showed  her  little  silver  pencil-case,  which  had  a 
pen  at  one  end.  with  which  she  had  scratched  her  fore- 
head in  her  abstraction. 

The  attention  of  Camors  was  redoubled  from  this  mo- 
ment— the  more  so  from  a  rapid  and  significant  glance 
from  the  Marquise,  which  seemed  to  warn  him  of  an 
approaching  event.  She  was  sitting  a  little  in  shadow 
in  one  corner,  in  order  to  meditate  more  at  ease  on  ques- 
tions and  answers.  An  instant  later  Camors  was  pass- 
ing around  the  room  collecting  notes.  She  deposited  one 
in  the  basket,  slipping  another  into  his  hand  with  the 
cat-like  dexterity  of  her  sex.  In  the  midst  of  these  pa- 
pers, which  each  person  amused  himself  with  reading, 
Camors  found  no  difficulty  in  retaining  without  remark 
the  clandestine  note  of  the  Marquise.  It  was  written  in 
red  ink,  a  little  pale,  but  very  legible,  and  contained 
these  words: 

"I  belong, soul,  body,  honor,  riches,  to  my  best-beloved  cousin, 
Louis  de  Camors,  from  this  moment  and  forever. 

"  Written  and  signed  with  the  pure  blood  of  my  veins,  March 
5.  185-. 

"CHARLOTTE  DE  Luc  D'ESIRELLES." 


OCTAVE  FEUIILET 

All  the  blood  of  Camors  surged  to  his  brain — a  cloud 
came  over  his  eyes — he  rested  his  hand  on  the  marble 
table,  then  suddenly  his  face  was  covered  with  a  mor- 
tal paleness.  These  symptoms  did  not  arise  from  re- 
morse or  fear;  his  passion  overshadowed  all.  He  felt 
a  boundless  joy.  He  saw  the  world  at  his  feet. 

It  was  by  this  act  of  frankness  and  of  extraordinary 
audacity,  seasoned  by  the  bloody  mysticism  so  familiar 
to  the  sixteenth  century,  which  she  adored,  that  the 
Marquise  de  Campvallon  surrendered  herself  to  her 
lover  and  sealed  their  fatal  union. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN   ANONYMOUS   LETTER 

£ARLY  six  weeks  had  passed  after  this 
last  episode.  It  was  five  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  and  the  Marquise  awaited 
Camors,  who  was  to  come  after  the 
session  of  the  Corps  Legislatif.  There 
was  a  sudden  knock  at  one  of  the 
doors  of  her  room,  which  communi- 
cated with  her  husband's  apartment. 
It  was  the  General.  She  remarked  with  surprise,  and 
even  with  fear,  that  his  countenance  was  agitated. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  dear?"  she  said. 
"Are  you  ill?" 

"No,"  replied  the  General,  "not  at  all." 
He  placed  himself  before  her,  and  looked  at  her  some 
moments  before  speaking,  his  eyes  rolling  wildly. 

"Charlotte!"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  painful  smile, 
"I  must  own  to  you  my  folly.    I  am  almost  mad  since 
morning — I    have    received    such    a    singular    letter. 
Would  you  like  to  see  it?" 
"If  you  wish,"  she  replied. 

He  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  and  gave  it  to  her. 
The  writing  was  evidently  carefully  disguised,  and  it 
was  not  signed. 

"An  anonymous  letter?"  said  the  Marquise,  whose 
[215! 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

eyebrows  were  slightly  raised,  with  an  expression  of 
disdain ;  then  she  read  the  letter,  which  was  as  follows : 

"  A  true  friend,  General,  feels  indignant  at  seeing  your  confidence 
and  your  loyalty  abused.  You  are  deceived  by  those  whom  you 
love  most. 

"  A  man  who  is  covered  with  your  favors  and  a  woman  who  owes 
everything  to  you  are  united  by  a  secret  intimacy  which  outrages 
you.  They  are  impatient  for  the  hour  when  they  can  divide  your 
spoils. 

"  He  who  regards  it  as  a  pious  duty  to  warn  you  does  not  desire 
to  calumniate  any  one.  He  is  sure  that  your  honor  is  respected  by 
her  to  whom  you  have  confided  it,  and  that  she  is  still  worthy  of 
your  confidence  and  esteem.  She  wrongs  you  in  allowing  herself 
to  count  upon  the  future,  which  your  best  friend  dates  from  your 
death.  He  seeks  your  widow  and  your  estate. 

"  The  poor  woman  submits  against  her  will  to  the  fascinations  of 
a  man  too  celebrated  for  his  successful  affairs  of  the  heart.  But 
this  man,  your  friend — almost  your  son — how  can  he  excuse  his 
conduct  ?  Every  honest  person  must  be  shocked  by  such  behavior, 
and  particularly  he  whom  a  chance  conversation  informed  of  the 
fact,  and  who  obeys  his  conscience  in  giving  you  this  informa- 
tion." 

The  Marquise,  after  reading  it,  returned  the  letter 
coldly  to  the  General. 

"Sign  it  Eleanore- Jeanne  de  la  Roche- Jugan!"  she 
said. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  asked  the  General. 

" It  is  as  clear  as  day,"  replied  the  Marquise.    "These 
expressions  betray  her — 'a  pious  duty  to  warn  you'- 
'  celebrated  for  his  successful  affairs  of  the  hearf — ' every 
honest  person.''    She  can  disguise  her  writing,  but  not 
her  style.    But  what  is  still  more  conclusive  is  that  which 

[216] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

she  attributes  to  Monsieur  de  Camors — for  I  suppose 
it  alludes  to  him — and  to  his  private  prospects  and  cal- 
culations. This  can  not  have  failed  to  strike  you,  as  it 
has  me,  I  suppose?" 

"If  I  thought  this  vile  letter  was  her  work,"  cried 
the  General,  "I  never  would  see  her  again  during  my 
life." 

"  Why  not  ?    It  is  better  to  laugh  at  it ! " 

The  General  began  one  of  his  solemn  promenades 
across  the  room.  The  Marquise  looked  uneasily  at  the 
clock.  Her  husband,  intercepting  one  of  these  glances, 
suddenly  stopped. 

"Do  you  expect  Camors  to-day?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes;  I  think  he  will  call  after  the  session." 

"I  think  he  will,"  responded  the  General,  with  a 
convulsive  smile.  "And  do  you  know,  my  dear,"  he 
added,  "the  absurd  idea  which  has  haunted  me  since  I 
received  this  infamous  letter? — for  I  believe  that  in- 
famy is  contagious." 

"You  have  conceived  the  idea  of  observing  our 
interview?"  said  the  Marquise,  in  a  tone  of  indolent 
raillery. 

"Yes,"  said  the  General,  "there — behind  that  cur- 
tain— as  in  a  theatre;  but,  thank  God!  I  have  been 
able  to  resist  this  base  intention.  If  ever  I  allow  myself 
to  play  so  mean  a  part,  I  should  wish  at  least  to  do  it 
with  your  knowledge  and  consent." 

"And  do  you  ask  me  to  consent  to  it?"  asked  the 
Marquise. 

"My  poor  Charlotte!"  said  the  General,  in  a  sad  and 
almost  supplicating  tone,  "I  am  an  old  fool — an  over- 

[217] 


OCTAVE  FEU1LLET 

grown  child — but  I  feel  that  this  miserable  letter  will 
poison  my  life.  I  shall  have  no  more  an  hour  of  peace 
and  confidence.  What  can  you  expect?  I  was  so  cru- 
elly deceived  before.  I  am  an  honorable  man,  but  I 
have  been  taught  that  all  men  are  not  like  myself. 
There  are  some  things  which  to  me  seem  as  impossible 
as  walking  on  my  head,  yet  I  see  others  doing  these 
things  every  day.  What  can  I  say  to  you  ?  After  read- 
ing this  perfidious  letter,  I  could  not  help  recollecting 
that  your  intimacy  with  Camors  has  greatly  increased 
of  late!" 

"Without  doubt,"  said  the  Marquise,  "I  am  very 
fond  of  him!" 

"I  remembered  also  your  tete-a-tete  with  him,  the 
other  night,  in  the  boudoir,  during  the  ball.  When  I 
awoke  you  had  both  an  air  of  mystery.  What  mysteries 
could  there  be  between  you  two?" 

"Ah,  what  indeed!"  said  the  Marquise,  smiling. 

"And  will  you  not  tell  me?" 

"You  shall  know  it  at  the  proper  time." 

"Finally,  I  swear  to  you  that  I  suspect  neither  of 
you — I  neither  suspect  you  of  wronging  me — of  dis- 
gracing me — nor  of  soiling  my  name  .  .  .  God  help 
me! 

"But  if  you  two  should  love  each  other,  even  while 
respecting  my  honor:  if  you  love  each  other  and  con- 
fess it — if  you  two,  even  at  my  side,  in  my  heart — if 
you,  my  two  children,  should  be  calculating  with  im- 
patient eyes  the  progress  of  my  old  age — planning  your 
projects  for  the  future,  and  smiling  at  my  approaching 
death — postponing  your  happiness  only  for  my  tomb— 

[218] 


MONSIEUR  DE  C AMORS 

you  may  think  yourselves  guiltless,  but  no,  I  tell  you  it 
would  be  shameful!" 

Under  the  empire  of  the  passion  which  controlled 
him,  the  voice  of  the  General  became  louder.  His  com- 
mon features  assumed  an  air  of  sombre  dignity  and 
imposing  grandeur.  A  slight  shade  of  paleness  passed 
over  the  lovely  face  of  the  young  woman  and  a  slight 
frown  contracted  her  forehead. 

By  an  effort,  which  in  a  better  cause  would  have  been 
sublime,  she  quickly  mastered  her  weakness,  and,  coldly 
pointing  out  to  her  husband  the  draped  door  by  which 
he  had  entered,  said: 

"Very  well,  conceal  yourself  there!" 

"You  will  never  forgive  me?" 

"You  know  little  of  women,  my  friend,  if  you  do  not 
know  that  jealousy  is  one  of  the  crimes  they  not  only 
pardon  but  love." 

"My  God,  I  am  not  jealous!" 

"Call  it  yourself  what  you  will,  but  station  yourself 
there!" 

"And  you  are  sincere  in  wishing  me  to  do  so?" 

"I  pray  you  to  do  so!  Retire  in  the  interval,  leave 
the  door  open,  and  when  you  hear  Monsieur  de  Camors 
enter  the  court  of  the  hotel,  return." 

"No!"  said  the  General,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion; "since  I  have  gone  so  far" — and  he  sighed  deeply 
—"I  do  not  wish  to  leave  myself  the  least  pretext  for 
distrust.  If  I  leave  you  before  he  comes,  I  am  capable 
of  fancying— 

"That  I  might  secretly  warn  him?  Nothing  more 
natural.  Remain  here,  then.  Only  take  a  book;  for 

[219] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

our  conversation,  under  such  circumstances,  can  not  be 
lively." 

He  sat  down. 

"But,"  he  said,  "what  mystery  can  there  be  between 
you  two?" 

"You  shall  hear!"  she  said,  with  her  sphinx-like 
smile. 

The  General  mechanically  took  up  a  book.  She 
stirred  the  fire,  and  reflected.  As  she  liked  terror,  dan- 
ger, and  dramatic  incidents  to  blend  with  her  intrigues, 
she  should  have  been  content;  for  at  that  moment 
shame,  ruin,  and  death  were  at  her  door.  But,  to  tell 
the  truth,  it  was  too  much  for  her;  and  when  she  looked, 
in  the  midst  of  the  silence  which  surrounded  her,  at  the 
true  character  and  scope  of  the  perils  which  surrounded 
her,  she  thought  her  brain  would  fail  and  her  heart 
break. 

She  was  not  mistaken  as  to  the  origin  of  the  letter. 
This  shameful  work  had  indeed  been  planned  by  Ma- 
dame de  la  Roche- Jugan.  To  do  her  justice,  she  had 
not  suspected  the  force  of  the  blow  she  was  dealing.  She 
still  believed  in  the  virtue  of  the  Marquise;  but  during 
the  perpetual  surveillance  she  had  never  relaxed,  she 
could  not  fail  to  see  the  changed  nature  of  the  inter- 
course between  Camors  and  the  Marquise.  It  must 
not  be  forgotten  that  she  dreamed  of  securing  for  her 
son  Sigismund  the  succession  to  her  old  friend ;  and  she 
foresaw  a  dangerous  rivalry — the  germ  of  which  she 
sought  to  destroy.  To  awaken  the  distrust  of  the 
General  toward  Camors,  so  as  to  cause  his  doors  to  be 
dosed  against  him,  was  all  she  meditated.  But  her 

[  220] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

anonymous  letter,  like  most  villainies  of  this  kind,  was 
a  more  fatal  and  murderous  weapon  than  its  base  au- 
thor imagined. 

The  young  Marquise,  then,  mused  while  stirring  the 
fire,  casting,  from  time  to  time,  a  furtive  glance  at  the 
clock. 

M.  de  Camors  would  soon  arrive — how  could  she 
warn  him  ?  In  the  present  state  of  their  relations  it  was 
not  impossible  that  the  very  first  words  of  Camors 
might  immediately  divulge  their  secret:  and  once  be- 
trayed, there  was  not  only  for  her  personal  dishonor— 
a  scandalous  fall,  poverty,  a  convent — but  for  her  hus- 
band or  her  lover — perhaps  for  both — death! 

When  the  bell  in  the  lower  court  sounded,  announcing 
the  Count's  approach,  these  thoughts  crowded  into  the 
brain  of  the  Marquise  like  a  legion  of  phantoms.  But 
she  rallied  her  courage  by  a  desperate  effort  and  strained 
all  her  faculties  to  the  execution  of  the  plan  she  had 
hastily  conceived,  which  was  her  last  hope.  And  one 
word,  one  gesture,  one  mistake,  or  one  carelessness  of  her 
lover,  might  overthrow  it  in  a  second.  A  moment  later 
the  door  was  opened  by  a  servant,  announcing  M.  de 
Camors.  Without  speaking,  she  signed  to  her  husband 
to  gain  his  hiding-place.  The  General,  who  had  risen 
at  the  sound  of  the  bell,  seemed  still  to  hesitate,  but 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  as  if  in  disdain  of  himself,  re- 
tired behind  the  curtain  which  faced  the  door. 

M.  de  Camors  entered  the  room  carelessly,  and  ad- 
vanced toward  the  fireplace  where  sat  the  Marquise; 
his  smiling  lips  half  opened  to  speak,  when  he  was 
Struck  by  the  peculiar  expression  on  the  face  of  the 

[221] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Marquise,  and  the  words  were  frozen  on  his  lips.  This 
look,  fixed  upon  him  from  his  entrance,  had  a  strange, 
weird  intensity,  which,  without  expressing  anything, 
made  him  fear  everything.  But  he  was  accustomed  to 
trying  situations,  and  as  wary  and  prudent  as  he  was 
intrepid.  He  ceased  to  smile  and  did  not  speak,  but 
waited. 

She  gave  him  her  hand  without  ceasing  to  look  at 
him  with  the  same  alarming  intensity. 

"Either  she  is  mad,"  he  said  to  himself,  "or  there  is 
some  great  peril!" 

With  the  rapid  perception  of  her  genius  and  of  her 
love,  she  felt  he  understood  her;  and  not  leaving  him 
time  to  speak  and  compromise  her,  instantly  said: 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  keep  your  promise." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Camors,  seating  himself. 

"Yes!  For  you  know  you  come  here  to  be  tor- 
mented." There  was  a  pause. 

"Have  you  at  last  become  a  convert  to  my  fixed 
idea?"  she  added  after  a  second. 

"What  fixed  idea?  It  seems  to  me  you  have  a  great 
many!" 

"Yes!  But  I  speak  of  a  good  one — my  best  one,  at 
least — of  your  marriage!" 

"What!  again,  cousin?"  said  Camors,  who,  now 
assured  of  his  danger  and  its  nature,  marched  with  a 
firmer  foot  over  the  burning  soil. 

"Yes,  again,  cousin;  and  I  will  tell  you  another 
thing — I  have  found  the  person." 

"Ah!    Then  I  shall  run  away!" 

She  met  his  smile  with  an  imperious  glance. 

222 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"Then  you  still  adhere  to  that  plan?"  said  Camors, 
laughing. 

"Most  firmly!  I  need  not  repeat  to  you  my  reasons 
—having  preached  about  it  all  winter — in  fact  so  much 
so  as  to  disturb  the  General,  who  suspects  some  mystery 
tetween  us." 

"The  General?    Indeed!" 

"Oh,  nothing  serious,  you  must  understand.  Well, 
let  us  resume  the  subject.  Miss  Campbell  will  not  do- 
she  is  too  blonde — an  odd  objection  for  me  to  make  by 
the  way;  not  Mademoiselle  de  Silas — too  thin;  not 
Mademoiselle  Rolet,  in  spite  of  her  millions;  not  Made- 
moiselle d'Esgrigny — too  much  like  the  Bacquieres  and 
Van-Cuyps.  All  this  is  a  little  discouraging,  you  will 
admit ;  but  finally  everything  clears  up.  I  tell  you  I  have 
discovered  the  right  one — a  marvel!" 

"Her  name?"  said  Camors. 

"  Marie  deTecle!" 

There  was  silence. 

"Well,  you  say  nothing,"  resumed  the  Marquise,  "be- 
cause you  can  have  nothing  to  say !  Because  she  unites 
everything — personal  beauty,  family,  fortune,  every- 
thing— almost  like  a  dream.  Then,  too,  your  properties 
join.  You  see  how  I  have  thought  of  everything,  my 
friend !  I  can  not  imagine  how  we  never  came  to  think 
of  this  before!" 

M.  de  Camors  did  not  reply,  and  the  Marquise  began 
to  be  surprised  at  his  silence. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed;  "you  may  look  a  long  time- 
there  can  not  be  a  single  objection — you  are  caught  this 
time.  Come,  my  friend,  say  yes,  I  implore  you!"  And 

[223] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

while  her  lips  said  "I  implore  you,"  in  a  tone  of  gra- 
cious entreaty,  her  look  said,  with  terrible  emphasis, 
"You  must!" 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  reflect  upon  it,  Madame  ?"  he 
said  at  last. 

"No,  my  friend!" 

"But  really,"  said  Camors,  who  was  very  pale,  "it 
seems  to  me  you  dispose  of  the  hand  of  Mademoiselle 
de  Tecle  very  readily.  Mademoiselle  de  Tecle  is  rich 
and  courted  on  all  sides — also,  her  great-uncle  has 
ideas  of  the  province,  and  her  mother,  ideas  of  religion, 
which  might  well— 

"I  charge  myself  with  all  that,"  interrupted  the 
Marquise. 

"What  a  mania  you  have  for  marrying  people!" 

"Women  who  do  not  make  love,  cousin,  always  have 
a  mania  for  matchmaking." 

"But  seriously,  you  will  give  me  a  few  days  for 
reflection?" 

"To  reflect  about  what?  Have  you  not  always  told 
me  you  intended  marrying  and  have  been  only  waiting 
the  chance  ?  Well,  you  never  can  find  a  better  one  than 
this;  and  if  you  let  it  slip,  you  will  repent  the  rest  of 
your  life." 

"But  give  me  time  to  consult  my  family!" 

"Your  family — what  a  joke!  It  seems  to  me  you 
have  reached  full  age;  and  then — what  family?  Your 
aunt,  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan?" 

"Doubtless!    I  do  not  wish  to  offend  her." 

"Ah,  my  dear  cousin,  don't  be  uneasy;  suppress  this 
uneasiness;  I  assure  you  she  will  be  delighted!" 

[224] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"Why  should  she?" 

"I  have  my  reasons  for  thinking  so;"  and  the  young 
woman  in  uttering  these  words  was  seized  with  a  fit 
of  sardonic  laughter  which  came  near  convulsion,  so 
shaken  were  her  nerves  by  the  terrible  tension. 

Camors,  to  whom  little  by  little  the  light  fell  stronger 
on  the  more  obscure  points  of  the  terrible  enigma  pro- 
posed to  him,  saw  the  necessity  of  shortening  a  scene 
which  had  overtasked  her  faculties  to  an  almost  insup- 
portable degree.  He  rose: 

"I  am  compelled  to  leave  you,"  he  said;  "for  I  am 
not  dining  at  home.  But  I  will  come  to-morrow,  if  you 
will  permit  me." 

"Certainly.  You  authorize  me  to  speak  to  the  Gen- 
eral?" 

"Well,  yes,  for  I  really  can  see  no  reasonable  objec- 
tion." 

"Very  good.  I  adore  you!"  said  the  Marquise.  She 
gave  him  her  hand,  which  he  kissed  and  immediately 
departed. 

It  would  have  required  a  much  keener  vision  than 
that  of  M.  de  Campvallon  to  detect  any  break,  or 
any  discordance,  in  the  audacious  comedy  which  had 
just  been  played  before  him  by  these  two  great 
artists. 

The  mute  play  of  their  eyes  alone  could  have  betrayed 
them ;  and  that  he  could  not  see. 

As  to  their  tranquil,  easy,  natural  dialogue  there  was 

not  in  it  a  word  which  he  could  seize  upon,  and  which 

did  not  remove  all  his  disquietude,  and  confound  all  his 

suspicions.     From  this  moment,  and  ever  afterward, 

*5  [225] 


OCTAVE  FEIJILLET 

every  shadow  was  effaced  from  his  mind ;  for  the  ability 
to  imagine  such  a  plot  as  that  in  which  his  wife  in  her 
despair  had  sought  refuge,  or  to  comprehend  such 
depth  of  perversity,  was  not  in  the  General's  pure  and 
simple  spirit. 

When  he  reappeared  before  his  wife,  on  leaving  his 
concealment,  he  was  constrained  and  awkward.  With 
a  gesture  of  confusion  and  humility  he  took  her  hand, 
and  smiled  upon  her  with  all  the  goodness  and  tender- 
ness of  his  soul  beaming  from  his  face. 

At  this  moment  the  Marquise,  by  a  new  reaction  of 
her  nervous  system,  broke  into  weeping  and  sobbing; 
and  this  completed  the  General's  despair. 

Out  of  respect  to  this  worthy  man,  we  shall  pass  over 
a  scene  the  interest  of  which  otherwise  is  not  sufficient 
to  warrant  the  unpleasant  effect  it  would  produce  on  all 
honest  people.  We  shall  equally  pass  over  without 
record  the  conversation  which  took  place  the  next  day 
between  the  Marquise  and  M.  de  Camors. 

Camors  had  experienced,  as  we  have  observed,  a 
sentiment  of  repulsion  at  hearing  the  name  of  Made- 
moiselle de  Tecle  appear  in  the  midst  of  this  intrigue. 
It  amounted  almost  to  horror,  and  he  could  not  control 
the  manifestation  of  it.  How  could  he  conquer  this  su- 
preme revolt  of  his  conscience  to  the  point  of  submitting 
to  the  expedient  which  would  make  his  intrigue  safe? 
By  what  detestable  sophistries  he  dared  persuade  him- 
self that  he  owed  everything  to  his  accomplice — even 
this,  we  shall  not  attempt  to  explain.  To  explain  would 
be  to  extenuate,  and  that  we  wish  not  to  do.  We  shall 
only  say  that  he  resigned  himself  to  this  marriage.  On 

[226] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  path  which  he  had  entered  a  man  can  check  himself 
as  little  as  he  can  check  a  flash  of  lightning. 

As  to  the  Marquise,  one  must  have  formed  no  con- 
ception of  this  depraved  though  haughty  spirit,  if  aston- 
ished at  her  persistence,  in  cold  blood,  and  after  reflec- 
tion, in  the  perfidious  plot  which  the  imminence  of  her 
danger  had  suggested  to  her.  She  saw  that  the  suspi- 
cions of  the  General  might  be  reawakened  another  day 
in  a  more  dangerous  manner,  if  this  marriage  proved 
only  a  farce.  She  loved  Camors  passionately;  and  she 
loved  scarcely  less  the  dramatic  mystery  of  their  liaison. 
She  had  also  felt  a  frantic  terror  at  the  thought  of  losing 
the  great  fortune  which  she  regarded  as  her  own;  for 
the  disinterestedness  of  her  early  youth  had  long  van- 
ished, and  the  idea  of  sinking  miserably  in  the  Parisian 
world,  where  she  had  long  reigned  by  her  luxury  as  well 
as  her  beauty,  was  insupportable  to  her. , 

Love,  mystery,  fortune — she  wished  to  preserve  them 
all  at  any  price;  and  the  more  she  reflected,  the  more 
the  marriage  of  Camors  appeared  to  her  the  surest 
safeguard. 

It  was  true,  it  would  give  her  a  sort  of  rival.  But  she 
had  too  high  an  opinion  of  herself  to  fear  anything;  and 
she  preferred  Mademoiselle  de  Teclc  to  any  other, 
because  she  knew  her,  and  regarded  her  as  an  inferior 
in  everything. 

About  fifteen  days  after,  the  General  called  on  Ma- 
dame de  Tecle  one  morning,  and  demanded  for  M.  de 
Camors  her  daughter's  hand.  It  would  be  painful  to 
dwell  on  the  joy  which  Madame  de  Teclc  felt ;  and  her 
only  surprise  was  that  Camors  had  not  come  in  person 

[227] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

to  press  his  suit.  But  Camors  had  not  the  heart  to  do 
so.  He  had  been  at  Reuilly  since  that  morning,  and 
called  on  Madame  de  Tecle,  where  he  learned  his  over- 
ture was  accepted.  Once  having  resolved  on  this  mon- 
strous action,  he  was  determined  to  carry  it  through  in 
the  most  correct  manner,  and  we  know  he  was  master 
of  all  social  arts. 

In  the  evening  Madame  de  Tecle  and  her  daughter, 
left  alone,  walked  together  a  long  time  on  their  dear 
terrace,  by  the  soft  light  of  the  stars — the  daughter 
blessing  her  mother,  and  the  mother  thanking  God — 
both  mingling  their  hearts,  their  dreams,  their  kisses, 
and  their  tears — happier,  poor  women,  than  is  permitted 
long  to  human  beings.  The  marriage  took  place  the 
ensuing  month. 


[228] 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  COUNTESS   DE  CAMORS 

"ER  passing  the  few  weeks  of  the 
honeymoon  at  Reuilly,  the  Comte  and 
Comtesse  de  Camors  returned  to 
Paris  and  established  themselves  at 
their  hotel  in  the  Rue  de  Plmpera- 
trice.  From  this  moment,  and  dur- 
ing the  months  that  followed,  the 
young  wife  kept  up  an  active  corre- 
spondence with  her  mother;  and  we  here  transcribe 
some  of  the  letters,  which  will  make  us  more  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  character  of  the  young  woman. 

Madame  de  Camors  to  Madame  de  Tecle. 

"October. 

"Am  I  happy?  No,  my  dearest  mother!  No — not  happy!  I 
have  only  wings  and  soar  to  heaven  like  a  bird !  I  feel  the  sun- 
shine in  my  head,  in  my  eyes,  in  my  heart. 

"It  blinds  me,  it  enchants  me,  it  causes  me  to  shed  delicious 
tears!  Happy  ?  No,  my  tender  mother;  that  is  not  possible,  when 
I  think  that  I  am  his  wife!  The  wife — understand  me — of  him 
who  has  reigned  in  my  poor  thoughts  since  I  was  able  to  think — of 
him  whom  I  should  have  chosen  out  of  the  whole  universe!  When 
I  remember  that  I  am  his  wife,  that  we  are  united  forever,  how  I 
love  life !  how  I  love  you !  how  I  love  God ! 

"The  Bois  and  the  lake  are  within  a  few  steps  of  us,  as  you 
[229] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

know.  We  ride  thither  nearly  every  morning,  my  husband  and  1 1 
— I  repeat,  /  and  my  husband!  We  go  there,  my  husband  and  I — 
I  and  my  husband  ! 

"I  know  not  how  it  is,  but  it  is  always  delicious  weather  to  me, 
even  when  it  rains — as  it  does  furiously  to-day;  for  we  have  just 
come  in,  driven  home  by  the  storm. 

"  During  our  ride  to-day,  I  took  occasion  to  question  him  qui- 
etly as  to  some  points  of  our  history  which  puzzled  me.  First,  why 
had  he  married  me  ? 

'"Because  you  pleased  me  apparently,  Miss  Mary.'  He  likes  to 
give  me  this  name,  which  recalls  to  him  I  know  not  what  episode 
of  my  untamed  youth — untamed  still  to  him. 

" '  If  I  pleased  you,  why  did  I  see  you  so  seldom  ? ' 

"'Because  I  did  not  wish  to  court  you  until  I  had  decided  on 
marrying.' 

"'How  could  I  have  pleased  you,  not  being  at  all  beautiful?' 

" '  You  are  not  beautiful,  it  is  true,'  replies  this  cruel  young  man, 
'but  you  are  very  pretty;  and  above  all  you  are  grace  itself,  like — 
your  mother.' 

"All  these  obscure  points  being  cleared  up  to  the  complete  sat- 
isfaction of  Miss  Mary,  Miss  Mary  took  to  fast  galloping ;  not  be- 
cause it  was  raining,  but  because  she  became  suddenly — we  do  not 
know  the  reason  why — as  red  as  a  poppy. 

"Oh,  beloved  mother!  how  sweet  it  is  to  be  loved  by  him  we 
adore,  and  to  be  loved  precisely  as  we  wish — as  we  have  dreamed — 
according  to  the  exact  programme  of  our  young,  romantic  hearts! 

"Did  you  ever  believe  I  had  ideas  on  such  a  delicate  subject? 
Yes,  dear  mother,  I  had  them.  Thus,  it  seemed  to  me  there  were 
many  different  styles  of  loving — some  vulgar,  some  pretentious, 
some  foolish,  and  others,  again,  excessively  comic.  None  of  these 
seemed  suited  to  the  Prince,  our  neighbor.  I  ever  felt  he  should 
love,  like  the  Prince  he  is,  with  grace  and  dignity;  with  serious 
tenderness,  a  little  stern  perhaps;  with  amiability,  but  almost  with 
condescension — as  a  lover,  but  as  a  master,  too — in  fine,  like  my 
husband  1 

"Dear  angel,  who  art  my  mother!   be  happy  in  my  happiness, 

[23°] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

which  was  your  sole  work.    I  kiss  your  hands — I  kiss  your  wings! 
"I  thank  you!    I  bless  you!    I  adore  you! 
"  If  you  were  near  me,  it  would  be  too  much  happiness!    I  should 
die,  I  think.    Nevertheless,  come  to  us  very  soon.    Your  chamber 
awaits  you.    It  is  as  blue  as  the  heavens  in  which  I  float.    I  have 
already  told  you  this,  but  I  repeat  it. 
"Good-by,  mother  of  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world! 
"Miss  MARY, 

"Comtesse  de  Camors." 


"November. 

"Mv  MOTHER: 

"You  made  me  weep — I  who  await  you  every  morning.  I  will 
say  nothing  to  you,  however;  I  will  not  beg  you.  If  the  health  of 
my  grandfather  seems  to  you  so  feeble  as  to  demand  your  pres- 
ence, I  know  no  prayer  would  take  you  away  from  your  duty.  Nor 
would  I  make  the  prayer,  my  angel  mother! 

"But  exaggerate  nothing,  I  pray  you,  and  think  your  little 
Marie  can  not  pass  by  the  blue  chamber  without  feeling  a  swelling 
of  the  heart.  Apart  from  this  grief  which  you  cause  her,  she  con- 
tinues to  be  as  happy  as  even  you  could  wish. 

"Her  charming  Prince  is  ever  charming  and  ever  her  Prince! 
He  takes  her  to  see  the  monuments,  the  museums,  the  theatres, 
like  the  poor  little  provincial  that  she  is.  Is  it  not  touching  on  the 
part  of  so  great  a  personage  ? 

"He  is  amused  at  my  ecstasies — for  I  have  ecstasies.  Do  not 
breathe  it  to  my  Uncle  Des  Rameures,  but  Paris  is  superb/  The 
days  here  count  double  our  own  for  thought  and  life. 

"My  husband  took  me  to  Versailles  yesterday.  I  suspect  that 
this,  in  the  eyes  of  the  people  here,  is  rather  a  ridiculous  episode; 
for  I  notice  the  Count  did  not  boast  of  it.  Versailles  corresponds 
entirely  with  the  impressions  you  had  given  me  of  it;  for  there  is 
not  the  slightest  change  since  you  visited  it  with  my  grandfather. 

"It  is  grand,  solemn,  and  cold.  There  is,  though,  a  new  and 
very  curious  museum  in  the  upper  story  of  the  palace,  consisting 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

chiefly  of  original  portraits  of  the  famous  men  of  history.  Nothing 
pleases  me  more  than  to  see  these  heroes  of  my  memory  passing 
before  me  in  grand  procession — from  Charles  the  Bold  to  George 
Washington.  Those  faces  my  imagination  has  so  often  tried  to 
evoke,  that  it  seems  to  me  we  are  in  the  Elysian  Fields,  and  hold 
converse  with  the  dead: 

"You  must  know,  my  mother,  I  was  familiar  with  many  things 
that  surprised  M.  de  Camors  very  much.  He  was  greatly  struck 
by  my  knowledge  of  science  and  my  genius.  I  did  no  more,  as  you 
may  imagine,  than  respond  to  his  questions;  but  it  seemed  to  as- 
tonish him  that  I  could  respond  at  all. 

"Why  should  he  ask  me  these  things?  If  he  did  not  know 
how  to  distinguish  the  different  Princesses  of  Conti,  the  answer  is 
simple. 

"But  /  knew,  because  my  mother  taught  me.  That  is  simple 
enough  too. 

"We  dined  afterward,  at  my  suggestion,  at  a  restaurant.  Oh, 
my  mother !  this  was  the  happiest  moment  of  my  life !  To  dine  at 
a  restaurant  with  my  husband  was  the  most  delightful  of  all  dissi- 
pations! 

"I  have  said  he  seemed  astonished  at  my  learning.  I  ought  to 
add  in  general,  he  seemed  astonished  whenever  I  opened  my  lips. 
Did  he  imagine  me  a  mute?  I  speak  little,  I  acknowledge,  how- 
ever, for  he  inspires  me  with  a  ceaseless  fear:  I  am  afraid  of  dis- 
pleasing him,  of  appearing  silly  before  him,  or  pretentious,  or  pe- 
dantic. The  day  when  I  shall  be  at  ease  with  him,  and  when  I  can 
show  him  my  good  sense  and  gratitude — if  that  day  ever  comes — 
I  shall  be  relieved  of  a  great  weight  on  my  mind,  for  truly  I  some- 
times fear  he  looks  on  me  as  a  child. 

"The  other  day  I  stopped  before  a  toy-shop  on  the  Boulevard. 
What  a  blunder!  And  as  he  saw  my  eye  fixed  on  a  magnificent 
squadron  of  dolls — 

" '  Do  you  wish  one,  Miss  Mary  ? '  he  said. 

"Was  not  this  horrible,  my  mother — from  him  who  knows 
everything  except  the  Princesses  of  Conti?  He  explained  every- 
thing to  me;  but  briefly  in  a  word,  as  if  to  a  person  he  despaired 

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MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

of  ever  making  understand  him.    And  I  understand  so  well  all  the 
time,  my  poor  little  mother! 

"  But  so  much  the  better,  say  I ;  for  if  he  loves  me  while  think- 
ing me  silly,  what  will  it  be  later! 

"  With  fond  love,  your 

"MARIE." 


"  December. 

"All  Paris  has  returned  once  more,  my  derr  mother,  and  for 
fifteen  days  I  have  been  occupied  with  visits.  The  men  here  do 
not  usually  visit ;  but  my  husband  is  obliged  to  present  me  for  the 
first  time  to  the  persons  I  ought  to  know.  He  accompanies  me 
there,  which  is  much  more  agreeable  to  me  than  to  him,  I  believe. 

"He  is  more  serious  than  usual.  Is  not  this  the  only  form  in 
which  amiable  men  show  their  bad  humor  ?  The  people  we  visit 
look  on  me  with  a  certain  interest.  The  woman  whom  this  great 
lord  has  honored  with  his  choice  is  evidently  an  object  of  great 
curiosity.  This  flatters  and  intimidates  me ;  I  blush  and  feel  con- 
strained; I  appear  awkward.  When  they  find  me  awkward  and 
insignificant,  they  stare.  They  believe  he  married  me  for  my  for- 
tune: then  I  wish  to  cry.  Wre  reenter  the  carriage,  he  smiles  upon 
me,  and  I  am  in  heaven!  Such  are  our  visits. 

"  You  must  know,  my  mother,  that  to  me  Madame  Campvallon 
is  divine.  She  often  takes  me  to  her  box  at  the  Italians,  as  mine 
will  not  be  vacant  until  January.  Yesterday  she  gave  a  little  fete 
for  me  in  her  beautiful  salon:  the  General  opened  the  ball  with 
me. 

"Oh!  my  mother,  what  a  wonderfully  clever  man  the  General 
is!  And  I  admire  him  because  he  admires  you! 

"The  Marquise  presented  to  me  all  the  best  dancers.  They 
were  young  gentlemen,  with  their  necks  so  uncovered  it  almost 
gave  me  a  chill.  I  never  before  had  seen  men  bare-necked  and  the 
fashion  is  not  becoming.  It  was  very  evident,  however,  that  they 
considered  themselves  indispensable  and  charming.  Their  de- 

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OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

portment  was.  insolent  and  self-sufficient;  their  eyes  were  disdain- 
ful and  all-conquering. 

"Their  mouths  ever  open  to  breathe  freer,  their  coat-tails  flap- 
ping like  wings,  they  take  one  by  the  waist — as  one  takes  his  own 
property.  Informing  you  by  a  look  that  they  are  about  to  do  you 
the  honor  of  removing  you,  they  whirl  you  away;  then,  panting  for 
breath,  inform  you  by  another  look  that  they  will  do  themselves  the 
pleasure  of  stopping — and  they  stop.  Then  they  rest  a  moment, 
panting,  laughing,  showing  their  teeth;  another  look — and  they 
repeat  the  same  performance.  They  are  wonderful ! 

"Louis  waltzed  with  me  and  seemed  satisfied.  I  saw  him  for 
the  first  time  waltz  with  the  Marquise.  Oh,  my  mother,  it  was  the 
dance  of  the  stars! 

"One  thing  which  struck  me  this  evening,  as  always,  was  the 
manifest  idolatry  with  which  the  women  regard  my  husband. 
This,  my  tender  mother,  terrifies  me.  Why — I  ask  myself — why 
did  he  choose  me  ?  How  can  I  please  him  ?  How  can  I  succeed  ? 

"Behold  the  result  of  all  my  meditations!  A  folly  perhaps,  but 
of  which  the  effect  is  to  reassure  me: 

"Portrait  of  the  Comtesse  de  Camors,  drawn  by  herself. 

"The  Comtesse  de  Camors,  formerly  Marie  de  Tecle,  is  a  per- 
sonage who,  having  reached  her  twentieth  year,  looks  older.  She 
is  not  beautiful,  as  her  husband  is  the  first  person  to  confess.  He 
says  she  is  pretty;  but  she  doubts  even  this.  Let  us  see.  She  has 
very  long  limbs,  a  fault  which  she  shares  with  Diana,  the  Huntress, 
and  which  probably  gives  to  the  gait  of  the  Countess  a  lightness  it 
might  not  otherwise  possess.  Her  body  is  naturally  short,  and  on 
horseback  appears  to  best  advantage.  She  is  plump  without  being 
gross. 

"Her  features  are  irregular;  the  mouth  being  too  large  and  the 
lips  too  thick,  with — alas!  the  shade  of  a  moustache;  white  teeth, 
a  little  too  small;  a  commonplace  nose,  a  slightly  pug;  and  her 
mother's  eyes — her  best  feature.  She  has  the  eyebrows  of  her 
Uncle  Des  Ramcurcs,  which  gives  an  air  of  severity  to  the  face  and 

[234] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

neutralizes  the  good-natured  expression — a  reflex  from  the  soft- 
ness of  her  heart. 

"She  has  the  dark  complexion  of  her  mother,  which  is  more  be- 
coming to  her  mother  than  to  her.  Add  to  all  this,  blue-black  hair 
in  great  silky  masses.  On  the  whole,  one  knows  not  what  to  pro- 
nounce her. 


"There,  my  mother,  is  my  portrait!  Intended  to  reassure  me, 
it  has  hardly  done  so;  for  it  seems  to  me  to  be  that  of  an  ugly  little 
woman! 

"  I  wish  to  be  the  most  lively  of  women ;  I  wish  to  be  one  of  the 
most  distinguished.  I  wish  to  be  one  of  the  most  captivating! 
But,  oh,  my  mother!  if  I  please  him  I  am  still  more  enchanted! 
On  the  whole,  thank  God!  he  finds  me  perhaps  much  better  than 
I  am:  for  men  have  not  the  same  taste  in  these  matters  that  we 
have. 

"But  what  I  really  can  not  comprehend,  is  why  he  has  so  little 
admiration  for  the  Marquise  de  Campvallon.  His  manner  is  very 
cold  to  her.  Were  I  a  man,  I  should  be  wildly  in  love  with  that 
superb  woman!  Good-night,  most  beloved  of  mothers! 


" January. 

"  You  complain  of  me,  my  cherished  one !  The  tone  of  my  letters 
wounds  you!  You  can  not  comprehend  how  this  matter  of  my 
personal  appearance  haunts  me.  I  scrutinize  it ;  I  compare  it  with 
that  of  others.  There  is  something  of  levity  in  that  which  hurts 
you?  You  ask  how  can  I  think  a  man  attaches  himself  to  these 
things,  while  the  merits  of  mind  and  soul  go  for  nothing  ? 

"  But,  my  dearest  mother,  how  will  these  merits  of  mind  and  of 
soul — supposing  your  daughter  to  possess  them — serve  her,  unless 
she  possesses  the  courage  or  has  the  opportunity  to  display  them  ? 
And  when  I  summon  up  the  courage,  it  seems  to  me  the  occasion 
never  comes. 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"  For  I  must  confess  to  you  that  this  delicious  Paris  is  not  per- 
fect; and  I  discover,  little  by  little,  the  spots  upon  the  sun. 

"Paris  is  the  most  charming  place!  The  only  pity  is  that  it  has 
inhabitants!  Not  but  that  they  are  agreeable,  for  they  are  only  too 
much  so ;  only  they  are  also  very  careless,  and  appear  to  my  view 
to  live  and  die  without  reflecting  much  on  what  they  are  doing.  It 
is  not  their  fault;  they  have  no  time. 

"Without  leaving  Paris,  they  are  incessant  travellers,  eternally 
distracted  by  motion  and  novelty.  Other  travellers,  when  they 
have  visited  some  distant  corner — forgetting  for  a  while  their  fami- 
lies, their  duties,  and  their  homes — return  and  settle  down  again. 
But  these  Parisians  never  do.  Their  life  is  an  endless  voyage; 
they  have  no  home.  That  which  elsewhere  is  the  great  aim  of  life 
is  secondary  here.  One  has  here,  as  elsewhere,  an  establishment 
— a  house,  a  private  chamber.  One  must  have.  Here  one  is  wife 
or  mother,  husband  or  father,  just  as  elsewhere;  but,  my  poor 
mother,  they  are  these  things  just  as  little  as  possible.  The  whole 
interest  centres  not  in  the  homes ;  but  in  the  streets,  the  museums, 
the  salons,  the  theatres,  and  the  clubs.  It  radiates  to  the  immense 
outside  life,  which  in  all  its  forms  night  and  day  agitates  Paris, 
attracts,  excites,  and  enervates  you;  steals  your  time,  your  mind, 
your  soul — and  devours  them  all ! 

"Paris  is  the  most  delicious  of  places  to  visit — the  worst  of 
places  to  live  in. 

"Understand  well,  my  mother,  that  in  seeking  by  what  qualifies 
I  can  best  attract  my  husband — who  is  the  best  of  men,  doubtless, 
but  of  Parisian  men  nevertheless — I  have  continually  reflected  on 
merits  which  may  be  seen  at  once,  which  do  not  require  time  to  be 
appreciated. 

"  Finally,  I  do  not  deny  that  all  this  is  miserable  cynicism,  un- 
worthy of  you  and  of  myself;  for  you  know  I  am  not  at  heart  a  bad 
little  woman.  Certainly,  if  I  could  keep  Monsieur  de  Camors  for  a 
year  or  two  at  an  old  chateau  in  the  midst  of  a  solitary  wood,  I  should 
like  it  much.  I  could  then  see  him  more  frequently,  I  could  then 
become  familiar  with  his  august  person,  and  could  develop  my 
little  talents  under  his  charmed  eyes.  But  then  this  might  weary 

[236] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

him  and  would  be  too  easy.    Life  and  happiness,  I  know,  are  not 
so  easily  managed.    All  is  difficulty,  peril,  and  conflict. 

"What  joy,  then,  to  conquer!  And  I  swear  to  you,  my  mother, 
that  I  will  conquer!  I  will  force  him  to  know  me  as  you  know  me; 
to  love  me,  not  as  he  now  does,  but  as  you  do,  for  many  good  rea- 
sons of  which  he  does  not  yet  dream. 

" Not  that  he  believes  me  absolutely  a  fool;  I  think  he  has  aban- 
doned that  idea  for  at  least  two  days  past. 

"How  he  came  thus  to  think,  my  next  letter  shall  explain. 

"  Your  own 

"MARIE." 


[237] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  REPTILE   STRIVES   TO   CLIMB 

"  March. 

*OU  will  remember,  my  mother,  that  the  Count 
has  as  secretary  a  man  named  Vautrot.  The 
name  is  a  bad  one;  but  the  man  himself  is 
a  good  enough  creature,  except  that  I  some- 
what dislike  his  catlike  style  of  looking  at 
one. 

"Well,  Monsieur  de  Vautrot  lives  in  the 
house  with  us.  He  comes  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, breakfasts  at  some  neighboring  ca/e, 
passes  the  day  in  the  Count's  study,  and  often  remains  to  dine 
with  us,  if  he  has  work  to  finish  in  the  evening. 

"He  is  an  educated  man,  and  knows  a  little  of  everything;  and 
he  has  undertaken  many  occupations  before  he  accepted  the  sub- 
ordinate though  lucrative  post  he  now  occupies  with  my  husband. 
He  loves  literature;  but  not  that  of  his  time  and  of  his  country, 
perhaps  because  he  himself  has  failed  in  this.  He  prefers  foreign 
writers  and  poets,  whom  he  quotes  with  some  taste,  though  with 
too  much  declamation. 

"Most  probably  his  early  education  was  defective;  for  on  all 
occasions,  when  speaking  with  us,  he  says,  'Yes,  Monsieur  le 
Comte!'  or  'Certainly,  Madame  la  Comtesse!'  as  if  he  were  a  ser- 
vant. Yet  withal,  he  has  a  peculiar  pride,  or  perhaps  I  should  say 
insufferable  vanity.  But  his  great  fault,  in  my  eyes,  is  the  scoffing 
tone  he  adopts,  when  the  subject  is  religion  or  morals. 

"Two  days  ago,  while  we  were  dining,  Vautrot  allowed  himself 
to  indulge  in  a  rather  violent  tirade  of  this  description,  It  was  cer- 
tainly contrary  to  all  good  taste. 

[238] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"'My  dear  Vautrot,'  my  husband  said  quietly  to  him,  'to  me 
these  pleasantries  of  yours  are  indifferent;  but  pray  remember, 
that  while  you  are  a  strong-minded  man,  my  wife  is  a  weak- 
minded  woman;  and  strength,  you  know,  should  respect  weak- 
ness.' 

"Monsieur  Vautrot  first  grew  white,  then  red,  and  finally  green. 
He  rose,  bowed  awkwardly,  and  immediately  afterward  left  the 
table.  Since  that  time  I  have  remarked  his  manner  has  been 
more  reserved.  The  moment  I  was  alone  with  Louis,  I  said: 

"  'You  may  think  me  indiscreet,  but  pray  let  me  ask  you  a  ques- 
tion. How  can  you  confide  all  your  affairs  and  all  your  secrets  to 
a  man  who  professes  to  have  no  principles  ? ' 

"Monsieur  de  Camors  laughed. 

"'Oh,  he  talks  thus  out  of  bravado,'  he  answered.  'He  thinks 
to  make  himself  more  interesting  in  your  eyes  by  these  Mephis- 
tophelian  airs.  At  bottom  he  is  a  good  fellow.' 

"'But,'  I  answered,  'he  has  faith  in  nothing.' 

"'Not  in  much,  I  believe.  Yet  he  has  never  deceived  me.  He 
is  an  honorable  man.' 

"  I  opened  my  eyes  wide  at  this. 

"'Well,'  he  said,  with  an  amused  look,  'what  is  the  matter,  Miss 
Mary?' 

"'What  is  this  honor  you  speak  of?' 

"'Let  me  ask  your  definition  of  it,  Miss  Mar}-,'  he  replied. 

"'Man  DieuV  I  cried,  blushing  deeply,  'I  know  but  little  of  it, 
but  it  seems  to  me  that  honor  separated  from  morality  is  no  great 
thing;  and  morality  without  religion  is  nothing.  They  all  con- 
stitute a  chain.  Honor  hangs  to  the  last  link,  like  a  flower;  but  if 
the  chain  be  broken,  honor  falls  with  the  rest.'  He  looked  at  me 
with  strange  eyes,  as  if  he  were  not  only  confounded  but  disquieted 
by  my  philosophy.  Then  he  gave  a  deep  sigh,  and  rising  said: 

"'Very  neat,  that  definition — very  neat.' 

"That  night,  at  the  opera,  he  plied  me  with  bonbons  and  orange 
ices.  Madame  de  Campvallon  accompanied  us;  and  at  parting, 
I  begged  her  to  call  for  me  next  day  on  her  way  to  the  Bois,  for 
she  is  my  idol.  She  is  so  lovely  and  so  distinguished — and  she 

[239] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

knows  it  well.  I  love  to  be  with  her.  On  our  return  home, 
Louis  remained  silent,  contrary  to  his  custom.  Suddenly  he  said, 
brusquely: 

"'Marie,  do  you  go  with  the  Marquise  to  the  Bois  to-morrow?' 

"'Yes.' 

" '  But  you  see  her  often,  it  seems  to  me — morning  and  evening. 
You  are  always  with  her.' 

"'Heavens!  I  do  it  to  be  agreeable  to  you.  Is  not  Madame  de 
Campvallon  a  good  associate  ? ' 

"'Excellent;  only  in  general  I  do  not  admire  female  friend- 
ships. But  I  did  wrong  to  speak  to  you  on  this  subject.  You  have 
wit  and  discretion  enough  to  preserve  the  proper  limits.' 

"This,  my  mother,  was  what  he  said  to  me.    I  embrace  you. 

Ever  your 

"MARIE." 


"March. 

"I  hope,  my  own  mother,  not  to  bore  you  this  year  with  a  cata- 
logue of  fetes  and  festivals,  lamps  and  girandoles;  for  Lent  is  com- 
ing. To-day  is  Ash-Wednesday.  Well,  we  dance  to-morrow  even- 
ing at  Madame  d'Oilly's.  I  had  hoped  not  to  go,  but  I  saw  Louis 
was  disappointed,  and  I  feared  to  offend  Madame  d'Oilly,  who 
has  acted  a  mother's  part  to  my  husband.  Lent  here  is  only  an 
empty  name.  I  sigh  to  myself:  'Will  they  never  stop!  Great 
heavens!  will  they  never  cease  amusing  themselves?' 

"I  must  confess  to  you,  my  darling  mother,  I  amuse  myself  too 
much  to  be  happy.  I  depended  on  Lent  for  some  time  to  myself, 
and  see  how  they  efface  the  calendar! 

"This  dear  Lent!  What  a  sweet,  honest,  pious  invention  it  is, 
notwithstanding.  How  sensible  is  our  religion!  How  well  it  un- 
derstands human  weakness  and  folly!  How  far-seeing  in  its  regu- 
lations! How  indulgent  also!  for  to  limit  pleasure  is  to  pardon  it. 

"I  also  love  pleasure — the  beautiful  toilets  that  make  us  resem- 
ble flowers,  the  lighted  salons,  the  music,  the  gay  voices  and  the 

[240] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

dance.  Yes,  I  love  all  these  things;  I  experience  their  charming 
confusion;  I  palpitate,  I  inhale  their  intoxication.  But  always — 
always!  at  Paris  in  the  winter — at  the  springs  in  summer — ever 
this  crowd,  ever  this  whirl,  this  intoxication  of  pleasure!  All  be- 
come like  savages,  like  negroes,  and — dare  I  say  so? — bestial! 
Alas  for  Lent! 

"HE  foresaw  it.  HE  told  us,  as  the  priest  told  me  this  morning: 
'Remember  you  have  a  soul:  Remember  you  have  duties! — a 
husband — a  child — a  mother — a  God ! ' 

"Then,  my  mother,  we  should  retire  within  ourselves;  should 
pass  the  time  in  grave  thought  between  the  church  and  our  homes ; 
should  converse  on  solemn  and  serious  subjects ;  and  should  dwell 
in  the  moral  world  to  gain  a  foothold  in  heaven!  This  season  is 
intended  as  a  wholesome  interval  to  prevent  our  running  frivolity 
into  dissipation,  and  pleasure  into  convulsion;  to  prevent  our 
winter's  mask  from  becoming  our  permanent  visage.  This  is  en- 
tirely the  opinion  of  Madame  Jaubert. 

"Who  is  this  Madame  Jaubert?  you  will  ask.  She  is  a  little 
Parisian  angel  whom  my  mother  would  dearly  love!  I  met  her 
almost  everywhere — but  chiefly  at  St.  Phillipe  dq  Roule — for  sev- 
eral months  without  being  aware  that  she  is  our  neighbor,  that  her 
hotel  adjoins  ours.  Such  is  Paris ! 

"She  is  a  graceful  person,  with  a  soft  and  tender,  but  decided 
air.  We  sat  near  each  other  at  church;  we  gave  each  other  side- 
glances;  we  pushed  our  chairs  to  let  each  other  pass;  and  in  our 
softest  voices  would  say, '  Excuse  me,  Madame! '  '  Oh,  Madame! ' 
My  glove  would  fall,  she  would  pick  it  up;  I  would  offer  her  the 
holy  water,  and  receive  a  sweet  smile,  with  '  Dear  Madame ! '  Once 
at  a  concert  at  the  Tuileries  we  observed  each  other  at  a  distance, 
and  smiled  recognition;  when  any  part  of  the  music  pleased  us 
particularly  we  glanced  smilingly  at  each  other.  Judge  of  my  sur- 
prise next  morning  when  I  saw  my  affinity  enter  the  little  Italian 
house  next  ours — and  enter  it,  too,  as  if  it  were  her  home.  On  in- 
quiry I  found  she  was  Madame  Jaubert,  the  wife  of  a  tall,  fair 
young  man  who  is  a  civil  engineer. 

"I  was  seized  with  a  desire  to  call  upon  my  neighbor.    I  spoke 

16  [  241  ] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

of  it  to  Louis,  blushing  slightly,  for  I  remembered  he  did  not  ap- 
prove of  intimacies  between  women.  But  above  all,  he  loves  me! 

"Notwithstanding  he  slightly  shrugged  his  shoulders — 'Permit 
me  at  least,  Miss  Mary,  to  make  some  inquiries  about  these  peo- 
ple.' 

"A  few  days  afterward  he  had  made  them,  for  he  said:  'Miss 
Mary,  you  may  visit  Madame  Jaubert;  she  is  a  perfectly  proper 
person.' 

"I  first  flew  to  my  husband's  neck,  and  thence  went  to  call  upon 
Madame  Jaubert. 

'"It  is  I,  Madame!' 

'"Oh,  Madame,  permit  me!' 

"And  we  embraced  each  other  and  were  good  friends  imme- 
diately. 

"Her  husband  is  a  civil  engineer,  as  I  have  said.  He  was  once 
occupied  with  great  inventions  and  with  great  industrial  works; 
but  that  was  only  for  a  short  time.  Having  inherited  a  large 
estate,  he  abandoned  his  studies  and  did  nothing — at  least  nothing 
but  mischief.  When  he  married  to  increase  his  fortune,  his  pretty 
little  wife  had  a  sad  surprise.  He  was  never  seen  at  home ;  always 
at  the  club — always  behind  the  scenes  at  the  opera — always  going 
to  the  devil!  He  gambled,  he  had  mistresses  and  shameful  affairs. 
But  worse  than  all,  he  drank — he  came  to  his  wife  drunk.  One 
incident,  which  my  pen  almost  refuses  to  write,  will  give  you  an 
idea.  Think  of  it!  He  conceived  the  idea  of  sleeping  in  his  boots ! 
There,  my  mother,  is  the  pretty  fellow  my  sweet  little  friend  trans- 
formed, little  by  little,  into  a  decent  man,  a  man  of  merit,  and  an 
excellent  husband ! 

"And  she  did  it  all  by  gentleness,  firmness,  and  sagacity.  Now 
is  not  this  encouraging  ? — for,  God  knows,  my  task  is  less  difficult. 

"Their  household  charms  me;  for  it  proves  that  one  may  build 
for  one's  self,  even  in  the  midst  of  this  Paris,  a  little  nest  such  as 
one  dreams  of.  These  dear  neighbors  are  inhabitants  of  Paris — 
not  its  prey.  They  have  their  fireside;  they  own  it,  and  it  belongs 
to  them.  Paris  is  at  their  door — so  much  the  better.  They  have 
ever  a  relish  for  refined  amusement;  'they  drink  at  the  fountain,' 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

hut  do  not  drown  themselves  in  it.  Their  habits  arc  the  same, 
passing  their  evenings  in  conversation,  reading,  or  music;  stirring 
the  fire  and  listening  to  the  wind  and  rain  without,  as  if  they  were 
in  a  forest. 

"Life  slips  gently  through  their  fingers,  thread  by  thread,  as  in 
our  dear  old  country  evenings. 

"My  mother,  they  are  happy! 

"  Here,  then,  is  my  dream — here  is  my  plan. 

"My  husband  has  no  vices,  as  Monsieur  Jaubert  had.  He  has 
only  the  habits  of  all  the  brilliant  men  of  his  Paris-world.  It  is 
necessary,  my  own  mother,  gradually  to  reform  him;  to  suggest 
insensibly  to  him  the  new  idea  that  one  may  pass  one  evening  at 
home  in  company  with  a  beloved  and  loving  wife,  without  dying 
suddenly  of  consumption. 

"The  rest  will  follow. 

"What  is  this  rest ?  It  is  the  taste  for  a  quiet  life,  for  the  serious 
sweetness  of  the  domestic  hearth — the  family  taste — the  idea  of 
seclusion — the  recovered  soul ! 

"  Is  it  not  so,  my  good  angel  ?  Then  trust  me.  I  am  more  than 
ever  full  of  ardor,  courage,  and  confidence.  For  he  loves  me  with 
all  his  heart,  with  more  levity,  perhaps,  than  I  deserve;  but  still — 
he  loves  me/ 

"  He  loves  me;  he  spoils  me;  he  heaps  presents  upon  me.  There 
is  no  pleasure  he  does  not  offer  me,  except,  be  it  understood,  the 
pleasure  of  passing  one  evening  at  home  together. 

"But  he  loves  me!    That  is  the  great  point — lie  loves  me! 

"Now,  dearest  mother,  let  me  whisper  one  final  word — a  word 
that  makes  me  laugh  and  cry  at  the  same  time.  It  seems  to  me 
that  for  some  time  past  I  have  had  two  hearts — a  large  one  of  my 
own,  and — another — smaller! 

"Oh,  my  mother!  I  sec  you  in  tears.  But  it  is  a  great  mystery 
this.  It  is  a  dream  of  heaven;  but  perhaps  only  a  dream,  which  I 
have  not  yet  told  even  to  my  husband — only  to  my  adorable 
mother!  Do  not  weep,  for  it  is  not  yet  quite  certain. 

"  Your  naughty 
"Miss  MARY." 

L*43] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

In  reply  to  this  letter  Madame  de  Camors  received 
one  three  mornings  after,  announcing  to  her  the  death 
of  her  grandfather.  The  Comte  de  Tecle  had  died  of 
apoplexy,  of  which  his  state  of  health  had  long  given 
warning.  Madame  de  Tecle  foresaw  that  the  first  im- 
pulse of  her  daughter  would  be  to  join  her  to  share  her 
sad  bereavement.  She  advised  her  strongly  against 
undertaking  the  fatigue  of  the  journey,  and  promised 
to  visit  her  in  Paris,  as  soon  as  she  conveniently  could. 
The  mourning  in  the  family  heightened  in  the  heart  of 
the  Countess  the  uneasy  feeling  and  vague  sadness  her 
last  letters  had  indicated. 

She  was  much  less  happy  than  she  told  her  mother; 
for  the  first  enthusiasm  and  first  illusions  of  marriage 
could  not  long  deceive  a  spirit  so  quick  and  acute  as 
hers. 

A  young  girl  who  marries  is  easily  deceived  by  the 
show  of  an  affection  of  which  she  is  the  object.  It  is 
rare  that  she  does  not  adore  her  husband  and  believe  she 
is  adored  by  him,  simply  because  he  has  married  her. 

The  young  heart  opens  spontaneously  and  diffuses  its 
delicate  perfume  of  love  and  its  songs  of  tenderness; 
and  enveloped  in  this  heavenly  cloud  all  seems  love 
around  it.  But,  little  by  little,  it  frees  itself;  and,  too 
often,  recognizes  that  this  delicious  harmony  and  intox- 
icating atmosphere  which  charmed  it  came  only  from 
itself. 

Thus  was  it  with  the  Countess;  so  far  as  the  pen 
can  render  the  shadows  of  a  feminine  soul.  Such  were 
the  impressions  which,  day  by  day,  penetrated  the  very 
soul  of  our  poor  "Miss  Mary." 

[244] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

It  was  nothing  more  than  this;  but  this  was  every- 
thing to  her ! 

The  idea  of  being  betrayed  by  her  husband— and 
that,  too,  with  cruel  premeditation — never  had  arisen 
to  torture  her  soul.  But,  beyond  those  delicate  atten- 
tions to  her  which  she  never  exaggerated  in  her  letters 
to  her  mother,  she  felt  herself  disdained  and  slighted. 
Marriage  had  not  changed  Camors's  habits:  he  dined 
at  home,  instead  of  at  his  club,  that  was  all.  She  be- 
lieved herself  loved,  however,  but  with  a  lightness  that 
was  almost  offensive.  Yet,  though  she  was  sometimes 
sad  and  nearly  in  tears,  she  did  not  despair;  this  valiant 
little  heart  attached  itself  with  intrepid  confidence  to  all 
the  happy  chances  the  future  might  have  in  store  for  it. 

M.  de  C  amors  continued  very  indifferent — as  one 
may  readily  comprehend — to  the  agitation  which  tor- 
mented this  young  heart,  but  which  never  occurred  to 
him  for  a  moment.  For  himself,  strange  as  it  may 
appear,  he  was  happy  enough.  This  marriage  had  been 
a  painful  step  to  take;  but,  once  confirmed  in  his  sin, 
he  became  reconciled  to  it.  But  his  conscience,  seared 
as  it  was,  had  some  living  fibres  in  it ;  and  he  would  not 
have  failed  in  the  duty  he  thought  he  owed  to  his  wife. 
These  sentiments  were  composed  of  a  sort  of  indiffer- 
ence, blended  with  pity.  He  was  vaguely  sorry  for  this 
child,  whose  existence  was  absorbed  and  destroyed 
between  those  of  two  beings  of  nature  superior  to  her 
own;  and  he  hoped  she  would  always  remain  ignorant 
of  the  fate  to  which  she  was  condemned.  He  resolved 
never  to  neglect  anything  that  might  extenuate  its  rigor; 
but  he  belonged,  nevertheless,  more  than  ever  solely  to 

[245] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

the  passion  which  was  the  supreme  crime  of  his  life. 
For  his  intrigue  with  Madame  de  Campvallon,  contin- 
ually excited  by  mystery  and  danger — and  conducted 
with  profound  address  by  a  woman  whose  cunning  was 
equal  to  her  beauty — continued  as  strong,  after  years  of 
enjoyment,  as  at  first. 

The  gracious  courtesy  of  M.  de  Camors,  on  which 
he  piqued  himself,  as  regarded  his  wife,  had  its  limits; 
as  the  young  Countess  perceived  whenever  she  at- 
tempted to  abuse  it.  Thus,  on  several  occasions  she 
declined  receiving  guests  on  the  ground  of  indisposition, 
hoping  her  husband  would  not  abandon  her  to  her  soli- 
tude. She  was  in  error. 

The  Count  gave  her  in  reality,  under  these  circum- 
stances, a  tete-a-tete  of  a  few  minutes  after  dinner;  but 
near  nine  o'clock  he  would  leave  her  with  perfect  tran- 
quillity. Perhaps  an  hour  later  she  would  receive  a 
little  packet  of  bonbons,  or  a  pretty  basket  of  choice 
fruit,  that  would  permit  her  to  pass  the  evening  as  she 
might.  These  little  gifts  she  sometimes  divided  with 
her  neighbor,  Madame  Jaubert;  sometimes  with  M. 
de  Vautrot,  secretary  to  her  husband. 

This  M.  de  Vautrot,  for  whom  she  had  at  first  con- 
ceived an  aversion,  was  gradually  getting  into  her  good 
graces.  In  the  absence  of  her  husband  she  always 
found  him  at  hand ;  and  referred  to  him  for  many  little 
details,  such  as  addresses,  invitations,  the  selection  of 
books  and  the  purchase  of  furniture.  From  this  came 
a  certain  familiarity;  she  began  to  call  him  Vautrot,  or 
"My  good  Vautrot,"  while  he  zealously  performed  all 
her  little  commissions.  He  manifested  for  her  a  great 

[246] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

deal  of  respectful  attention,  and  even  refrained  from 
indulging  in  the  sceptical  sneers  which  he  knew  dis- 
pleased her.  Happy  to  witness  this  reform  and  to  testify 
her  gratitude,  she  invited  him  to  remain  on  two  or  three 
evenings  when  he  came  to  take  his  leave,  and  talked 
with  him  of  books  and  the  theatres. 

When  her  mourning  kept  her  at  home,  M.  de  Camors 
passed  the  two  first  evenings  with  her  until  ten  o'clock. 
But  this  effort  fatigued  him,  and  the  poor  young  woman, 
who  had  already  erected  an  edifice  for  the  future  on  this 
frail  basis,  had  the  mortification  of  observing  that  on 
the  third  evening  he  had  resumed  his  bachelor  habits. 

This  was  a  great  blow  to  her,  and  her  sadness  be- 
came greater  than  it  had  been  up  to  that  time ;  so  much 
so  in  fact,  that  solitude  was  almost  unbearable.  She 
had  hardly  been  long  enough  in  Paris  to  form  intima- 
cies. Madame  Jaubert  came  to  her  friend  as  often  as 
she  could ;  but  in  the  intervals  the  Countess  adopted  the 
habit  of  retaining  Vautrot,  or  even  of  sending  for  him. 
Camors  himself,  three  fourths  of  the  time,  would  bring 
him  in  before  going  out  in  the  evening. 

"I  bring  you  Vautrot,  my  dear,"  he  would  say,  "and 
Shakespeare.  You  can  read  him  together." 

Vautrot  read  well;  and  though  his  heavy  declam- 
atory style  frequently  annoyed  the  Countess,  she  thus 
managed  to  kill  many  a  long  evening,  while  waiting  the 
expected  visit  of  Madame  de  Tecle.  But  Vautrot, 
whenever  he  looked  at  her,  wore  such  a  sympathetic 
air  and  seemed  so  mortified  when  she  did  not  invite 
him  to  stay,  that,  even  when  wearied  of  him,  she  fre- 
quently did  so. 

[247] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

About  the  end  of  the  month  of  April,  M.  Vautrot  was 
alone  with  the  Countess  de  Camors  about  ten  o'clock 
in  the  evening.  They  were  reading  Goethe's  Faust, 
which  she  had  never  before  heard.  This  reading  seemed 
to  interest  the  young  woman  more  than  usual,  and  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  reader,  she  listened  to  it  with  rapt 
attention.  She  was  not  alone  fascinated  by  the  work, 
but — as  is  frequently  the  case — she  traced  her  own 
thoughts  and  her  own  history  in  the  fiction  of  the  poet. 

We  all  know  with  what  strange  clairvoyance  a  mind 
possessed  with  a  fixed  idea  discovers  resemblances  and 
allusions  in  accidental  description.  Madame  de  Ca- 
mors perceived  without  doubt  some  remote  connection 
between  her  husband  and  Faust — between  herself  and 
Marguerite;  for  she  could  not  help  showing  that  she 
was  strangely  agitated.  She  could  not  restrain  the  vio- 
lence of  her  emotion,  when  Marguerite  in  prison  cries 
out,  in  her  agony  and  madness: 

Marguerite. 

Who  has  given  you,  headsman,  this  power  over  me?  You  come 
to  me  while  it  is  yet  midnight.  Be  merciful  and  let  me  live. 

Is  not  to-morrow  morning  soon  enough  ? 

I  am  yet  so  young — so  young!  and  am  to  die  already!  I  was 
fair,  too;  that  was  my  undoing.  My  true  love  was  near,  now  he 
is  far  away. 

Torn  lies  my  garland ;  scattered  the  flowers.  Don't  take  hold  of 
me  so  roughly !  spare  me !  spare  me  What  have  I  done  to  you  ? 
Let  me  not  implore  you  in  vain!  I  never  saw  you  before  in  all  my 
life,  you  know. 

Faust. 

Can  I  endure  this  misery  ? 

[248] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

Marguerite. 

1  am  now  entirely  in  thy  power.  Only  let  me  give  suck  to  the 
child.  I  pressed  it  this  whole  night  to  my  heart.  They  took  it 
away  to  vex  me,  and  now  say  I  killed  it,  and  I  shall  never  be  happy 
again.  They  sing  songs  upon  me !  It  is  wicked  of  the  people.  An 
old  tale  ends  so — who  bids  them  apply  it  ? 

Faust. 
A  lover  lies  at  thy  feet,  to  unloose  the  bonds  of  wickedness. 

What  a  blending  of  confused  sentiments,  of  pow- 
erful sympathies,  of  vague  apprehensions,  suddenly 
seized  on  the  breast  of  the  young  Countess!  One  can 
hardly  imagine  their  force — to  the  very  verge  of  dis- 
tracting her.  She  turned  on  her  fauteuil  and  closed  her 
beautiful  eyes,  as  if  to  keep  back  the  tears  which  rolled 
under  the  fringe  of  the  long  lashes. 

At  this  moment  Vautrot  ceased  to  read,  dropped  his 
book,  sighed  profoundly,  and  stared  a  moment. 

Then  he  knelt  at  the  feet  of  the  Comtesse  de  Camors! 
He  took  her  hand;  he  said,  with  a  tragic  sigh,  "Poor 
angel!" 

It  will  be  difficult  to  understand  this  incident  and 
the  unfortunately  grave  results  that  followed  it,  without 
having  the  moral  and  physical  portrait  of  its  principal 
actor. 

M.  Hippolyte  Vautrot  was  a  handsome  man  and 
knew  it  perfectly.  He  even  flattered  himself  on  a  cer- 
tain resemblance  to  his  patron,  the  Comte  de  Camors. 
Partly  from  nature  and  partly  from  continual  imitation, 
this  idea  had  some  foundation;  for  he  resembled  the 

[249] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Count  as  much  as  a  vulgar  man  can  resemble  one  of 
the  highest  polish. 

He  was  the  son  of  a  small  confectioner  in  the  prov- 
inces; had  received  from  his  father  an  honestly  ac- 
quired fortune,  and  had  dissipated  it  in  the  varied 
enterprises  of  his  adventurous  life.  The  influence  of 
his  college,  however,  obtained  for  him  a  place  in  the 
Seminary.  He  left  it  to  come  to  Paris  and  study  law; 
placed  himself  with  an  attorney;  attempted  literature 
without  success;  gambled  on  the  Bourse  and  lost  there. 

He  had  successively  knocked  with  feverish  hand  at 
all  the  doors  of  Fortune,  and  none  had  opened  to  him, 
because,  though  his  ambition  was  great,  his  capacity 
was  limited.  Subordinate  positions,  for  which  alone  he 
was  fit,  he  did  not  want.  He  would  have  made  a  good 
tutor:  he  sighed  to  be  a  poet.  He  would  have  been  a 
respectable  cure  in  the  country :  he  pined  to  be  a  bishop. 
Fitted  for  an  excellent  secretary,  he  aspired  to  be  a  min- 
ister. In  fine,  he  wished  to  be  a  great  man,  and  conse- 
quently was  a  failure  as  a  little  one. 

But  he  made  himself  a  hypocrite ;  and  that  he  found 
much  easier.  He  supported  himself  on  the  one  hand  by 
the  philosophic  society  to  be  met  at  Madame  d'Oilly's; 
on  the  other,  by  the  orthodox  reunions  of  Madame 
de  la  Roche- Jugan. 

By  these  influences  he  contrived  to  secure  the  sec- 
retaryship to  the  Comte  de  Camors,  who,  in  his  gen- 
eral contempt  of  the  human  species,  judged  Vautrot 
to  be  as  good  as  any  other.  Now,  familiarity  with  M. 
de  Camors  was,  morally,  fearfully  prejudicial  to  the 
secretary.  It  had,  it  is  true,  the  effect  of  stripping  off 

[250] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

his  devout  mask,  which  he  seldom  put  on  before  his 
patron ;  but  it  terribly  increased  in  venom  the  depravity 
which  disappointment  and  wounded  pride  had  secreted 
in  his  ulcerated  heart. 

Of  course  no  one  will  imagine  that  M.  de  Camors  had 
the  bad  taste  to  undertake  deliberately  the  demoraliza- 
tion of  his  secretary;  but  contact,  intimacy,  and  example 
sufficed  fully  to  do  this.  A  secretary  is  always  more 
or  less  a  confidant.  He  divines  that  which  is  not  re- 
vealed to  him;  and  Vautrot  could  not  be  long  in  dis- 
covering that  his  patron's  success  did  not  arise,  mor- 
ally, from  too  much  principle — in  politics,  from  excess 
of  conviction — in  business,  from  a  mania  for  scruples! 
The  intellectual  superiority  of  Camors,  refined  and  in- 
solent as  it  was,  aided  to  blind  Vautrot,  showing  him 
evil  which  was  not  only  prosperous,  but  was  also  radiant 
in  grace  and  prestige.  For  these  reasons  he  most  pro- 
foundly admired  his  master — admired,  imitated,  and 
execrated  him! 

Camors  professed  for  him  and  for  his  solemn  airs 
an  utter  contempt,  which  he  did  not  always  take  the 
trouble  to  conceal;  and  Vautrot  trembled  when  some 
burning  sarcasm  fell  from  such  a  height  on  the  old 
wound  of  his  vanity — that  wound  which  was  ever  sore 
within  him.  What  he  hated  most  in  Camors  was  his 
easy  and  insolent  triumph— his  rapid  and  unmerited 
fortune — all  those  enjoyments  which  life  yielded  him 
without  pain,  without  toil,  without  conscience — peace- 
fully tasted!  But  what  he  hated  above  all,  was  that 
this  man  had  thus  obtained  these  things  while  he  had 
vainly  striven  for  them. 

[251] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Assuredly,  in  this  Vautrot  was  not  an  exception. 
The  same  example  presented  to  a  healthier  mind 
would  not  have  been  much  more  salutary,  for  we  must 
tell  those  who,  like  M.  de  Camors,  trample  under  foot 
all  principles  of  right,  and  nevertheless  imagine  that 
their  secretaries,  their  servants,  their  wives  and  their 
children,  may  remain  virtuous — we  must  tell  these  that 
while  they  wrong  others  they  deceive  themselves!  And 
this  was  the  case  with  Hippolyte  Vautrot. 

He  was  about  forty  years  of  age — a  period  of  life 
when  men  often  become  very  vicious,  even  when  they 
have  been  passably  virtuous  up  to  that  time.  He 
affected  an  austere  and  puritanical  air;  was  the  great 
man  of  the  cafe  he  frequented;  and  there  passed  judg- 
ment on  his  contemporaries  and  pronounced  them  all 
inferior.  He  was  difficult  to  please— in  point  of  virtue 
demanding  heroism;  in  talent,  genius;  in  art,  per- 
fection. 

His  political  opinions  were  those  of  Erostratus,  with 
this  difference — always  in  favor  of  the  ancient — that 
Vautrot,  after  setting  fire  to  the  temple,  would  have 
robbed  it  also.  In  short,  he  was  a  fool,  but  a  vicious 
fool  as  well. 

If  M.  de  Camors,  at  the  moment  of  leaving  his  luxu- 
rious study  that  evening,  had  had  the  bad  taste  to  turn 
and  apply  his  eye  to  the  keyhole,  he  would  have  seen 
something  greatly  to  astonish  even  him. 

He  would  have  seen  this  "honorable  man"  approach 
a  beautiful  Italian  cabinet  inlaid  with  ivory,  turn 
over  the  papers  in  the  drawers,  and  finally  open  in 
the  most  natural  manner  a  very  complicated  lock,  the 

[252] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

key  of  which  the  Count  at  that  moment  had  in  his 
pocket. 

It  was  after  this  search  that  M.  Vautrot  repaired 
with  his  volume  of  Faust  to  the  boudoir  of  the  young 
Countess,  at  whose  feet  we  have  already  left  him  too 
long. 


[  253  ] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LIGHTNING   FROM  A  CLEAR   SKY 

MADAME  DE  CAMORS  had  closed 

her  eyes  to  conceal  her  tears.  She 
opened  them  at  the  instant  Vautrot 
seized  her  hand  and  called  her  "Poor 
angel!" 

Seeing  the  man  on  his  knees,  she 
could  not  comprehend  it,  and  only  ex- 
claimed, simply: 
"Are  you  mad,  Vautrot?" 

"Yes,  I  am  mad ! "  Vautrot  threw  his  hair  back  with 
a  romantic  gesture  common  to  him,  and,  as  he  be- 
lieved, to  the  poets — "Yes,  I  am  mad  with  love  and 
with  pity,  for  I  see  your  sufferings,  pure  and  noble 
victim!" 

The  Countess  only  stared  in  blank  astonishment. 
"Repose  yourself  with  confidence,"  he  continued, 
"on  a  heart  that  will  be  devoted  to  you  until  death— 
a  heart  into  which  your  tears  now  penetrate  to  its  most 
sacred  depths!" 

The  Countess  did  not  wish  her  tears  to  penetrate  to 
such  a  distance,  so  she  dried  them. 

A  man  on  his  knees  before  a  woman  he  adores  must 
appear  to  her  either  sublime  or  ridiculous.  Unfortu- 
nately, the  attitude  of  Vautrot,  at  once  theatrical  and 
awkward,  did  not  seem  sublime  to  the  Countess.  To 

[254] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

her  lively  imagination  it  was  irresistibly  ludicrous.  A 
bright  gleam  of  amusement  illumined  her  charming 
countenance;  she  bit  her  lip  to  conceal  it,  but  it  shone 
out  of  her  eyes  nevertheless. 

A  man  never  should  kneel  unless  sure  of  rising  a  con- 
queror. Otherwise,  like  Vautrot,  he  exposes  himself  to 
be  laughed  at. 

"Rise,  my  good  Vautrot,"  the  Countess  said,  gravely. 
"This  book  has  evidently  bewildered  you.  Go  and 
take  some  rest  and  we  will  forget  this;  only  you  must 
never  forget  yourself  again  in  this  manner." 

Vautrot  rose.    He  was  livid. 

"Madame  la  Comtesse,"  he  said,  bitterly,  "the  love 
of  a  great  heart  never  can  be  an  offence.  Mine  at  least 
would  have  been  sincere;  mine  would  have  been  faith- 
ful: mine  would  not  have  been  an  infamous  snare!" 

The  emphasis  of  these  words  displayed  so  evident  an 
intention,  the  countenance  of  the  young  woman  changed 
immediately.  She  moved  uneasily  on  her  fauteuil. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Monsieur  Vautrot?" 

"Nothing,  Madame,  which  you  do  not  know,  I 
think,"  he  replied,  meaningly. 

She  rose. 

"You  shall  explain  your  meaning  immediately  to  me, 
Monsieur!"  she  exclaimed;  "or  later,  to  my  husband." 

"But  your  sadness,  your  tears,"  cried  the  secretary, 
in  a  tone  of  admirable  sincerity — "these  made  me  sure 
you  were  not  ignorant  of  it!" 

"Of  what ?    You  hesitate !    Speak,  man ! ' ' 

"7  am  not  a  wretch!  /  love  you  and  pity  you! — that 
is  all;"  and  Vautrot  sighed  deeply. 

[255] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"And  why  do  you  pity  me?"  She  spoke  haughtily; 
and  though  Vautrot  had  never  suspected  this  imperious- 
ness  of  manner  or  of  language,  he  reflected  hurriedly  on 
the  point  at  which  he  had  arrived.  More  sure  than  ever 
of  success,  after  a  moment  he  took  from  his  pocket  a 
folded  letter.  It  was  one  with  which  he  had  provided 
himself  to  confirm  the  suspicions  of  the  Countess,  now 
awakened  for  the  first  time. 

In  profound  silence  he  unfolded  and  handed  it  to 
her.  She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  seized  it.  A  single 
glance  recognized  the  writing,  for  she  had  often  ex- 
changed notes  with  the  Marquise  de  Campvallon. 

Words  of  the  most  burning  passion  terminated  thus: 

" — Always  a  little  jealous  of  Mary;  half  vexed  at 
having  given  her  to  you.  For  she  is  pretty  and — but  77 
I  am  beautiful,  am  I  not,  my  beloved  ? — and,  above  all, 
I  adore  you!" 

At  the  first  word  the  Countess  became  fearfully  pale. 
Finishing,  she  uttered  a  deep  groan;  then  she  reread 
the  letter  and  returned  it  to  Vautrot,  as  if  unconscious 
of  what  she  was  doing. 

For  a  few  seconds  she  remained  motionless — petrified 
—her  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy.  A  world  seemed  rolling 
down  and  crushing  her  heart. 

Suddenly  she  turned,  passed  with  rapid  steps  into 
her  boudoir;  and  Vautrot  heard  the  sound  of  opening 
and  shutting  drawers.  A  moment  after  she  reappeared 
with  bonnet  and  cloak,  and  crossed  the  boudoir  with 
the  same  strong  and  rapid  step. 

Vautrot,  greatly  terrified,  rushed  to  stop  her, 
[256] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"Madame!"  he  cried,  throwing  himself  before  her. 

She  waved  him  aside  with  an  imperious  gesture  of 
her  hand;  he  trembled  and  obeyed,  and  she  left  the 
boudoir.  A  moment  later  she  was  in  the  Avenue  des 
Champs  Elysees,  going  toward  Paris. 

It  was  now  near  midnight;  cold,  damp  April  weather, 
with  the  rain  falling  in  great  drops.  The  few  pedes- 
trians still  on  the  broad  pavement  turned  to  follow  with 
their  eyes  this  majestic  young  woman,  whose  gait  seemed 
hastened  by  some  errand  of  life  or  death. 

But  in  Paris  nothing  is  surprising,  for  people  witness 
all  manner  of  things  there.  Therefore  the  strange  ap- 
pearance of  Madame  de  Camors  did  not  excite  any  ex- 
traordinary attention.  A  few  men  smiled  and  nodded; 
others  threw  a  few  words  of  raillery  at  her — both  were 
unheeded  alike.  She  traversed  the  Place  de  la  Con- 
corde with  the  same  convulsive  haste,  and  passed  toward 
the  bridge.  Arriving  on  it,  the  sound  of  the  swollen 
Seine  rushing  under  the  arches  and  against  the  pillars, 
caught  her  ear;  she  stopped,  leaned  against  the  para- 
pet, and  gazed  into  the  angry  water;  then  bowing  her 
head  she  uttered  a  deep  sigh,  and  resumed  her  rapid 
walk. 

In  the  Rue  Vanneau  she  stopped  before  a  brilliantly 
lighted  mansion,  isolated  from  the  adjoining  houses  by 
a  garden  wall.  It  was  the  dwelling  of  the  Marquise  de 
Campvallon.  Arrived  there,  the  unfortunate  child  knew 
not  what  to  do,  nor  even  why  she  had  come.  She  had 
some  vague  design  of  assuring  herself  palpably  of  her 
misfortune;  to  touch  it  with  her  finger;  or  perhaps  to 
find  some  reason,  some  pretext  to  doubt  it, 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

She  dropped  down  on  a  stone  bench  against  the  gar- 
den wall,  and  hid  her  face  in  both  her  hands,  vainly 
striving  to  think.  It  was  past  midnight.  The  streets 
were  deserted :  a  shower  of  rain  was  falling  over  Paris, 
and  she  was  chilled  to  numbness. 

A  sergent-de-ville  passed,  enveloped  in  his  cape.  He 
turned  and  stared  at  the  young  woman ;  then  took  her 
roughly  by  the  arm. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  said,  brutally. 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  wondering  eyes. 

"I  do  not  know  myself,"  she  answered. 

The  man  looked  more  closely  at  her,  discovered 
through  all  her  confusion  a  nameless  refinement  and 
the  subtle  perfume  of  purity.  He  took  pity  on  her. 

"But,  Madame,  you  can  not  stay  here,"  he  rejoined 
in  a  softer  voice. 

"No?" 

"You  must  have  some  great  sorrow?" 

"Very  great." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"The  Comtesse  de  Camors,"  she  said,  simply. 

The  man  looked  bewildered. 

"Will  you  tell  me  where  you  live,  Madame?" 

She  gave  the  address  with  perfect  simplicity  and  per- 
fect indifference.  She  seemed  to  be  thinking  nothing 
of  what  she  was  saying.  The  man  took  a  few  steps, 
then  stopped  and  listened  to  the  sound  of  wheels  ap- 
proaching. The  carriage  was  empty.  He  stopped  it, 
opened  the  door,  and  requested  the  Countess  to  get  in. 
She  did  so  quietly,  and  he  placed  himself  beside  the 
driver. 

[258] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

The  Comte  de  Camors  had  just  reached  his  house 
and  heard  with  surprise,  from  the  lips  of  his  wife's 
maid,  the  details  of  the  Countess's  mysterious  disap- 
pearance, when  the  bell  rang  violently. 

He  rushed  out  and  met  his  wife  on  the  stairs.  She 
had  somewhat  recovered  her  calmness  on  the  road,  and 
as  he  interrogated  her  with  a  searching  glance,  she 
made  a  ghastly  effort  to  smile. 

"I  was  slightly  ill  and  went  out  a  little,"  she  said. 
"I  do  not  know  the  streets  and  lost  my  way." 

Notwithstanding  the  improbability  of  the  explana- 
tion, he  did  not  hesitate.  He  murmured  a  few  soft 
words  of  reproach  and  placed  her  in  the  hands  of  her 
maid,  who  removed  her  wet  garments. 

During  that  time  he  called  the  sergent-de-ville,  who 
remained  in  the  vestibule,  and  closely  interrogated  him. 
On  learning  in  what  street  and  what  precise  spot  he  had 
found  the  Countess,  her  husband  knew  at  once  and 
fully  the  whole  truth. 

He  went  directly  to  his  wife.  She  had  retired  and 
was  trembling  in  every  limb.  One  of  her  hands  was 
resting  outside  the  coverlet.  He  rushed  to  take  it, 
but  she  withdrew  it  gently,  with  sad  and  resolute 
dignity. 

The  simple  gesture  told  him  they  were  separated  for- 
ever. 

By  a  tacit  agreement,  arranged  by  her  and  as  tacitly 
accepted  by  him,  Madame  de  Camors  became  virtually 
a  widow. 

He  remained  for  some  seconds  immovable,  his  ex- 
pression lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  bed-hangings;  then 

[259] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

walked  slowly  across  the  chamber.    The  idea  of  lying 
to  defend  himself  never  occurred  to  him. 

His  line  of  conduct  was  already  arranged — calmly, 
methodically.  But  two  blue  circles  had  sunk  around 
his  eyes,  and  his  face  wore  a  waxen  pallor.  His 
hands,  joined  behind  his  back,  were  clenched;  and 
the  ring  he  wore  sparkled  with  their  tremulous  move- 
ment. At  intervals  he  seemed  to  cease  breathing, 
as  he  listened  to  the  chattering  teeth  of  his  young 
wife. 

After  half  an  hour  he  approached  the  bed. 

"Marie!"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  She  turned  upon 
him  her  eyes  gleaming  with  fever. 

"Marie,  I  am  ignorant  of  what  you  know,  and  I  shall 
not  ask,"  he  continued.  "I  have  been  very  criminal 
toward  you,  but  perhaps  less  so  than  you  think. 
Terrible  circumstances  bound  me  with  iron  bands. 
Fate  ruled  me!  But  I  seek  no  palliation.  Judge  me  as 
severely  as  you  wish ;  but  I  beg  of  you  to  calm  yourself 
—preserve  yourself!  You  spoke  to  me  this  morning  of 
your  presentiments — of  your  maternal  hopes.  Attach 
yourself  to  those  thoughts,  and  you  will  always  be  mis- 
tress of  your  life.  As  for  myself,  I  shall  be  whatever  you 
will — a  stranger  or  a  friend.  But  now  I  feel  that  my 
presence  makes  you  ill.  I  would  leave  you  for  the  pres- 
ent, but  not  alone.  Do  you  wish  Madame  Jaubert  to 
come  to  you  to-night?" 

"Yes!"  she  murmured,  faintly. 

"I  shall  go  for  her;  but  it  is  not  necessary  to  tell  you 
that  there  are  confidences  one  must  reserve  even  from 
one's  dearest  friends." 

[260] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"Except  a  mother?"  She  murmured  the  question 
with  a  supplicating  agony  very  painful  to  see. 

He  grew  still  paler.  After  an  instant,  "Except  a 
mother!"  he  said.  "Be  it  so!" 

She  turned  her  face  and  buried  it  in  the  pillow. 

"Your  mother  arrives  to-morrow,  does  she  not  ?  "  She 
made  an  affirmative  motion  of  her  head.  "  You  can  make 
your  arrangements  with  her.  I  shall  accept  everything. ' ' 

"Thank  you,"  she  replied,  feebly. 

He  left  the  room  and  went  to  find  Madame  Jaubert, 
whom  he  awakened,  and  briefly  told  her  that  his  wife 
had  been  seized  with  a  severe  nervous  attack — the  effect 
of  a  chill.  The  amiable  little  woman  ran  hastily  to 
her  friend  and  spent  the  night  with  her. 

But  she  was  not  the  dupe  of  the  explanation  Camors 
had  given  her.  Women  quickly  understand  one  an- 
other in  their  grief.  Nevertheless  she  asked  no  confi- 
dences and  received  none;  but  her  tenderness  to  her 
friend  redoubled.  During  the  silence  of  that  terrible 
night,  the  only  service  she  could  render  her  was  to  make 
her  weep. 

Nor  did  those  laggard  hours  pass  less  bitterly  for  M. 
de  Camors.  He  tried  to  take  no  rest,  but  walked  up 
and  down  his  apartment  until  daylight  in  a  sort  of 
frenzy.  The  distress  of  this  poor  child  wounded  him  to 
the  heart.  The  souvenirs  of  the  past  rose  before  him 
and  passed  in  sad  procession.  Then  the  morrow  would 
show  him  the  crushed  daughter  with  her  mother — and 
such  a  mother!  Mortally  stricken  in  all  her  best  illu- 
sions, in  all  her  dearest  beliefs,  in  all  connected  with 
the  happiness  of  life ! 

[261] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

He  found  that  he  still  had  in  his  heart  lively  feelings 
of  pity;  still  some  remorse  in  his  conscience. 

This  weakness  irritated  him,  and  he  denounced  it  to 
himself.  Who  had  betrayed  him?  This  question  agi- 
tated him  to  an  equal  degree ;  but  from  the  first  instant 
he  had  not  been  deceived  in  this  matter. 

The  sudden  grief  and  half-crazed  conviction  of  his 
wife,  her  despairing  attitude  and  her  silence,  could 
only  be  explained  by  strong  assurance  and  certain  reve- 
lation. After  turning  the  matter  over  and  over  in  his 
own  mind,  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  nothing 
could  have  thrown  such  clear  light  into  his  life  save  the 
letters  of  Madame  de  Campvallon. 

He  never  wrote  the  Marquise,  but  could  not  prevent 
her  writing  to  him;  for  to  her,  as  to  all  women,  love 
without  letters  was  incomplete. 

But  the  fault  of  the  Count — inexcusable  in  a  man  of 
his  tact — was  in  preserving  these  letters.  No  one,  how- 
ever, is  perfect,  and  he  was  an  artist.  He  delighted  in 
these  chefs-d'ceuvre  of  passionate  eloquence,  was  proud 
of  inspiring  them,  and  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to 
burn  or  destroy  them.  He  examined  at  once  the  secret 
drawer  where  he  had  concealed  them  and,  by  certain 
signs,  discovered  the  lock  had  been  tampered  with. 
Nevertheless  no  letter  was  missing;  the  arrangement 
of  them  alone  had  been  disturbed. 

His  suspicions  at  once  reverted  to  Vautrot,  whose 
scruples  he  suspected  were  slight;  and  in  the  morning 
they  were  confirmed  beyond  doubt  by  a  letter  from  the 
secretary.  In  fact  Vautrot,  after  passing  on  his  part  a 
most  wretched  night,  did  not  feel  his  nerves  equal  in 

[262] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  morning  to  meeting  the  reception  the  Count  possi- 
bly had  in  waiting  for  him.  His  letter  was  skilfully 
penned  to  put  suspicion  to  sleep  if  it  had  not  been  fully 
roused,  and  if  the  Countess  had  not  betrayed  him. 

It  announced  his  acceptance  of  a  lucrative  situation 
suddenly  offered  him  in  a  commercial  house  in  London. 
He  was  obliged  to  decide  at  once,  and  to  sail  that  same 
morning  for  fear  of  losing  an  opportunity  which  could 
not  occur  again.  It  concluded  with  expressions  of  the 
liveliest  gratitude  and  regret. 

Camors  could  not  reach  his  secretary  to  strangle 
him;  so  he  resolved  to  pay  him.  He  not  only  sent  him 
all  arrears  of  salary,  but  a  large  sum  in  addition  as  a 
testimonial  of  his  sympathy  and  good  wishes. 

This,  however,  was  a  simple  precaution;  for  the 
Count  apprehended  nothing  more  from  the  venomous 
reptile  so  far  beneath  him,  after  he  had  once  shaken  it 
off.  Seeing  him  deprived  of  the  only  weapon  he  could 
use  against  him,  he  felt  safe.  Besides,  he  had  lost  the 
only  interest  he  could  desire  to  subserve,  for  he  knew  M. 
Vautrot  had  done  him  the  compliment  of  courting  his 
wife. 

And  he  really  esteemed  him  a  little  less  low,  after  dis- 
covering this  gentlemanly  taste ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

ONE   GLEAM   OF   HOPE 

T  required  on  the  part  of  M.  de  Camors, 
this  morning,  an  exertion  of  all  his 
courage  to  perform  his  duty  as  a  gen- 
tleman in  going  to  receive  Madame 
de  Tecle  at  the  station.  But  courage 
had  been  for  some  time  past  his  sole 
remaining  virtue;  and  this  at  least 
he  sought  never  to  lose.  He  received, 
then,  most  gracefully  his  mother-in-law,  robed  in  her 
mourning  attire.  She  .was  surprised  at  not  seeing  her 
daughter  with  him.  He  informed  her  that  she  had 
been  a  little  indisposed  since  the  preceding  evening. 
Notwithstanding  the  precautions  he  took  in  his  lan- 
guage and  by  his  smile,  he  could  not  prevent  Madame 
de  Tecle  from  feeling  a  lively  alarm. 

He  did  not  pretend,  however,  entirely  to  reassure  her. 
Under  his  reserved  and  measured  replies,  she  felt  the 
presentiment  of  some  disaster.  After  first  pressing  him 
with  many  questions,  she  kept  silent  during  the  rest  of 
the  drive. 

The  young  Countess,  to  spare  her  mother  the  first 
shock,  had  quitted  her  bed;  and  the  poor  child  had 
even  put  a  little  rouge  on  her  pale  cheeks.  M.  de  Ca- 
mors himself  opened  for  Madame  de  Tecle  the  door  of 
her  daughter's  chamber,  and  then  withdrew. 

[264] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

The  young  woman  raised  herself  with  difficulty  from 
her  couch,  and  her  mother  took  her  in  her  arms. 

All  that  passed  between  them  at  first  was  a  silent  in- 
terchange of  mutual  caresses.  Then  the  mother  seated 
herself  near  her  daughter,  drew  her  head  on  her  bosom, 
and  looked  into  the  depths  of  her  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  said,  sadly. 

"Oh,  nothing — nothing  hopeless!  only  you  must 
love  your  little  Mary  more  than  ever.  Will  you  not?" 

"Yes;  but  why?" 

"I  must  not  worry  you;  and  I  must  not  wrong  my- 
self either — you  know  why!" 

"Yes;  but  I  implore  you,  my  darling,  to  tell 
me." 

"Very  well;  I  will  tell  you  everything;  but,  mother, 
you  must  be  brave  as  I  am." 

She  buried  her  head  lower  still  on  her  mother's 
breast,  and  recounted  to  her,  in  a  low  voice,  without 
looking  up  once,  the  terrible  revelation  which  had  been 
made  to  her,  and  which  her  husband's  avowal  had  con- 
firmed. 

Madame  de  Tecle  did  not  once  interrupt  her  during 
this  cruel  recital.  She  only  imprinted  a  kiss  on  her 
hair  from  time  to  time.  The  young  Countess,  who  did 
not  dare  to  raise  her  eyes  to  her,  as  if  she  were  ashamed 
of  another's  crime,  might  have  imagined  that  she  had 
exaggerated  the  gravity  of  her  misfortune,  since  her 
mother  had  received  the  confidence  with  so  much  calm- 
ness. But  the  calmness  of  Madame  dc  Tecle  at  this 
terrible  moment  was  that  of  the  martyrs;  for  all  that 
could  have  been  suffered  by  the  Christians  under  the 

[265] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

claws  of  the  tiger,  or  on  the  rack  of  the  torturer,  this 
mother  was  suffering  at  the  hands  of  her  best-beloved 
daughter.  Her  beautiful  pale  face — her  large  eyes 
upturned  to  heaven,  like  those  that  artists  give  to  the 
pure  victims  kneeling  in  the  Roman  circus — seemed 
to  ask  God  whether  He  really  had  any  consolation 
for  such  torture. 

When  she  had  heard  all,  she  summoned  strength  to 
smile  at  her  daughter,  who  at  last  looked  up  to  her 
with  an  expression  of  timid  uncertainty — embracing 
her  more  tightly  still. 

"Well,  my  darling,"  said  she,  at  last,  "it  is  a  great 
affliction,  it  is  true.  You  are  right,  notwithstanding; 
there  is  nothing  to  despair  of." 

"Do  you  really  believe  so?" 

"Certainly.  There  is  some  inconceivable  mystery 
under  all  this;  but  be  assured  that  the  evil  is  not  so 
terrible  as  it  appears." 

"My  poor  mother!  but  he  has  acknowledged  it?" 

"I  am  better  pleased  that  he  has  acknowledged  it. 
That  proves  he  has  yet  some  pride,  and  that  some  good 
is  left  in  his  soul.  Then,  too,  he  feels  very  much 
afflicted — he  suffers  as  much  as  we.  Think  of  that. 
Let  us  think  of  the  future,  my  darling." 

They  clasped  each  other's  hands,  and  smiled  at  each 
other  to  restrain  the  tears  which  filled  the  eyes  of  both. 
After  a  few  minutes — "I  wish  much,  my  child,"  said 
Madame  de  Tecle,  "to  repose  for  half  an  hour;  and 
then  also  I  wish  to  arrange  my  toilet." 

"I  will  conduct  you  to  your  chamber.  Oh,  I  can 
walk!  I  feel  a  great  deal  better." 

[266] 


Madame  de  Camors  took  her  mother's  arm  and  con- 
ducted her  as  far  as  the  door  of  the  chamber  prepared 
for  her.  On  the  threshold  she  left  her. 

"Be  sensible,"  said  Madame  de  Tecle,  turning  and 
giving  her  another  smile. 

"And  you  also,"  said  the  young  woman,  whose  voice 
failed  her. 

Madame  de  Tecle,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  closed, 
raised  her  clasped  hands  toward  heaven;  then,  falling 
on  her  knees  before  the  bed,  she  buried  her  head  in  it, 
and  wept  despairingly. 

The  library  of  M.  de  Camors  was  contiguous  to  this 
chamber.  He  had  been  walking  with  long  strides  up 
and  down  this  corridor,  expecting  every  moment  to  see 
Madame  de  Tecle  enter.  As  the  time  passed,  he  sat 
himself  down  and  tried  to  read,  but  his  thoughts  wan- 
dered. His  ear  eagerly  caught,  against  his  will,  the 
slightest  sounds  in  the  house.  If  a  foot  seemed  ap- 
proaching him,  he  rose  suddenly  and  tried  to  compose 
his  countenance.  When  the  door  of  the  neighboring 
chamber  was  opened,  his  agony  was  redoubled.  He 
distinguished  the  whispering  of  the  two  voices;  then, 
an  instant  after,  the  dull  fall  of  Madame  de  Tecle  upon 
the  carpet;  then  her  despairing  sobs.  M.  de  Camors 
threw  from  him  violently  the  book  which  he  was  forc- 
ing himself  to  read,  and,  placing  his  elbows  on  the  bu- 
reau which  was  before  him,  held,  for  a  long  time,  his 
pale  brow  tightened  in  his  contracted  hands.  When 
the  sound  of  sobs  abated  little  by  little,  and  then  ceased, 
he  breathed  freer.  About  midday  he  received  this 
note; 

[267] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"  If  you  will  permit  me  to  take  my  daughter  to  the  country  for  a 
few  days,  I  shall  be  grateful  to  you. 

"Buss  DE  TECLE." 

He  returned  immediately  this  simple  reply : 

"You  can  do  nothing  of  which  I  do  not  approve  to-day  and 
always.  CAMORS." 

Madame  de  Tecle,  in  fact,  having  consulted  the 
inclination  and  the  strength  of  her  daughter,  had 
determined  to  remove  her  without  delay,  if  possible, 
from  the  impressions  of  the  spot  where  she  had  suffered 
so  severely  from  the  presence  of  her  husband,  and 
from  the  unfortunate  embarrassment  of  their  situation. 
She  desired  also  to  meditate  in  solitude,  in  order  to 
decide  what  course  to  take  under  such  unexampled  cir- 
cumstances. Finally,  she  had  not  the  courage  to  see 
M.  de  Camors  again — if  she  ever  could  see  him  again— 
until  some  time  had  elapsed.  It  was  not  without  anxi- 
ety that  she  awaited  the  reply  of  the  Count  to  the  re- 
quest she  had  addressed  him. 

In  the  midst  of  the  troubled  confusion  of  her  ideas, 
she  believed  him  capable  of  almost  anything;  and 
she  feared  everything  from  him.  The  Count's  note 
reassured  her.  She  hastened  to  read  it  to  her  daughter; 
and  both  of  them,  like  two  poor  lost  creatures  who  cling 
to  the  smallest  twig,  remarked  with  pleasure  the  tone  of 
respectful  abandonment  with  which  he  had  reposed 
their  destinies  in  their  own  hands.  He  spent  his  whole 
day  at  the  session  of  the  Corps  Legislatif ;  and  when  he 
returned,  they  had  departed. 

Madame  de  Camors  woke  up  the  next  morning  in  the 
[268] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

chamber  where  her  girlhood  had  passed.  The  birds  of 
spring  were  singing  under  her  windows  in  the  old  an- 
cestral gardens.  As  she  recognized  these  friendly  voices, 
so  familiar  to  her  infancy,  her  heart  melted;  but  sev- 
eral hours'  sleep  had  restored  to  her  her  natural  cour- 
age. She  banished  the  thoughts  which  had  weakened 
her,  rose,  and  went  to  surprise  her  mother  at  her  first 
waking.  Soon  after,  both  of  them  were  walking  to- 
gether on  the  terrace  of  lime-trees.  It  was  near  the  end 
of  April;  the  young,  scented  verdure  spread  itself  out 
beneath  the  sunbeams;  buzzing  flies  already  swarmed 
in  the  half -opened  roses,  in  the  blue  pyramids  of  lilacs, 
and  in  the  clusters  of  pink  clover.  After  a  few  turns 
made  in  silence  in  the  midst  of  this  fresh  and  enchant- 
ing scene,  the  young  Countess,  seeing  her  mother  ab- 
sorbed in  reverie,  took  her  hand. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  "do  not  be  sad.  Here  we  are  as 
formerly — both  of  us  in  our  little  nook.  We  shall  be 
happy." 

The  mother  looked  at  her,  took  her  head  and  kissed 
her  fervently  on  the  forehead. 

"You  are  an  angel!"  she  said. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  their  uncle,  DCS  Rameures, 
notwithstanding  the  tender  affection  he  showed  them, 
was  rather  in  the  way.  He  never  had  liked  Camors; 
he  had  accepted  him  as  a  nephew  as  he  had  accepted 
him  for  a  deputy — with  more  of  resignation  than  en- 
thusiasm. His  antipathy  was  only  too  well  justified  by 
the  event ;  but  it  was  necessary  to  keep  him  in  ignorance 
of  it.  He  was  an  excellent  man ;  but  rough  and  blunt. 
The  conduct  of  Camors,  if  he  had  but  suspected  it, 

[269] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

would  surely  have  urged  him  to  some  irreparable  quar- 
rel. Therefore  Madame  de  Tecle  and  her  daughter,  in 
his  presence,  were  compelled  to  make  only  half  utter- 
ances, and  maintain  great  reserve — as  much  as  if  he 
had  been  a  stranger.  This  painful  restraint  would  have 
become  insupportable  had  not  the  young  Countess's 
health,  day  by  day,  assumed  a  less  doubtful  character, 
and  furnished  them  with  excuses  for  their  preoccupa- 
tion, their  disquiet,  and  their  retired  life. 

Madame  de  Tecle,  who  reproached  herself  with  the 
misfortunes  of  her  daughter,  as  her  own  work,  and  who 
condemned  herself  with  an  unspeakable  bitterness,  did 
not  cease  to  search,  in  the  midst  of  those  ruins  of  the 
past  and  of  the  present,  some  reparation,  some  refuge 
for  the  future.  The  first  idea  which  presented  itself  to 
her  imagination  had  been  to  separate  absolutely,  and  at 
any  cost,  the  Countess  from  her  husband.  Under  the 
first  shock  of  fright  which  the  duplicity  of  Camors  had 
inflicted  upon  her,  she  could  not  dwell  without  horror 
on  the  thought  of  replacing  her  child  at  the  side  of  such 
a  man.  But  this  separation — supposing  they  could 
obtain  it,  through  the  consent  of  M.  de  Camors,  or  the 
authority  of  the  law — would  give  to  the  public  a  secret 
scandal,  and  might  entail  redoubled  catastrophes.  Were 
it  not  for  these  consequences  she  would,  at  least,  have 
dug  between  Madame  de  Camors  and  her  husband  an 
eternal  abyss.  Madame  dc  Tecle  did  not  desire  this. 
By  force  of  reflection  she  had  finally  seen  through  the 
character  of  M.  de  Camors  in  one  day — not  probably 
more  favorably,  but  more  truly.  Madame  de  Tecle, 
although  a  stranger  to  all  wickedness,  knew  the  world 

[910] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

and  knew  life,  and  her  penetrating  intelligence  divined 
yet  more  than  she  knew  certainly.  She  then  very  nearly 
understood  what  species  of  moral  monster  M.  de  Ca- 
mors  was.  Such  as  she  understood  him,  she  hoped 
something  from  him  still.  However,  the  condition  of 
the  Countess  offered  her  some  consolation  in  the  future, 
which  she  ought  not  to  risk  depriving  herself  of;  and 
God  might  permit  that  this  pledge  of  this  unfortunate 
union  might  some  day  reunite  the  severed  ties. 

Madame  de  Tecle,  in  communicating  her  reflections, 
her  hopes,  and  her  fears  to  her  daughter,  added :  "  My 
poor  child,  I  have  almost  lost  the  right  to  give  you  coun- 
sel; but  I  tell  you,  were  it  myself  I  should  act  thus." 

"Very  well,  mother,  I  shall  do  so,"  replied  the  young 
woman. 

"Reflect  well  on  it  first,  for  the  situation  which  you 
are  about  to  accept  will  have  much  bitterness  in  it; 
but  we  have  only  a  choice  of  evils." 

At  the  close  of  this  conversation,  and  eight  days  after 
their  arrival  in  the  country,  Madame  de  Tecle  wrote  M. 
de  Camors  a  letter,  which  she  read  to  her  daughter, 
who  approved  it. 

"I  understood  you  to  say,  that  you  would  restore  to  your  wife 
her  liberty  if  she  wished  to  resume  it.  She  neither  wishes,  nor  could 
she  accept  it.  Her  first  duty  is  to  the  child  which  will  bear  your 
name.  It  does  not  depend  on  her  to  keep  this  name  stainless.  She 
prays  you,  then,  to  reserve  for  her  a  place  in  your  house.  You 
need  not  fear  any  trouble  or  any  reproach  from  her.  She  and  I 
know  how  to  suffer  in  silence.  Nevertheless,  I  supplicate  you  to 
be  true  to  her — to  spare  her.  Will  you  leave  her  yet  a  few  days  in 
peace,  then  recall,  or  come  for  her?" 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

This  letter  touched  M.  de  Camors  deeply.  Impas- 
sive as  he  was,  it  can  easily  be  imagined  that  after  the 
departure  of  his  wife  he  had  not  enjoyed  perfect  ease 
of  mind.  Uncertainty  is  the  worst  of  all  evils,  because 
everything  may  be  apprehended.  Deprived  entirely  of 
all  news  for  eight  days,  there  was  no  possible  catastrophe 
he  did  not  fancy  floating  over  his  head.  He  had  the 
haughty  courage  to  conceal  from  Madame  de  Camp- 
vallon  the  event  that  had  occurred  in  his  house,  and  to 
leave  her  undisturbed  while  he  himself  was  sleepless 
for  many  nights.  It  was  by  such  efforts  of  energy  and 
of  indomitable  pride  that  this  strange  man  preserved 
within  his  own  consciousness  a  proud  self-esteem.  The 
letter  of  Madame  de  Tecle  came  to  him  like  a  deliver- 
ance. He  sent  the  following  brief  reply : 

"I  accept  your  decision  with  gratitude  and  respect.  The  reso- 
lution of  your  daughter  is  generous.  I  have  yet  enough  of  gener- 
osity left  myself  to  comprehend  this.  I  am  forever,  whether  you 
wish  it  or  not,  her  friend  and  yours. 

"CAMORS." 

A  week  later,  having  taken  the  precaution  of  an- 
nouncing his  intention,  he  arrived  one  evening  at  Ma- 
dame de  Tecle's. 

His  young  wife  kept  her  chamber.  They  had  taken 
care  to  have  no  witnesses,  but  their  meeting  was  less 
painful  and  less  embarrassing  than  they  apprehended. 

Madame  de  Tecle  and  her  daughter  found  in  his 
courteous  reply  a  gleam  of  nobleness  which  inspired 
them  with  a  shadow  of  confidence.  Above  all,  they 
were  proud,  and  more  averse  to  noisy  scenes  than  wo- 

[272] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

men  usually  are.  They  received  him  coldly,  then,  but 
calmly.  On  his  part,  he  displayed  toward  them  in  his 
looks  and  language  a  subdued  seriousness  and  sadness, 
which  did  not  lack  either  dignity  or  grace. 

The  conversation  having  dwelt  for  some  time  on  the 
health  of  the  Countess,  turned  on  current  news,  on 
local  incidents,  and  took,  little  by  little,  an  easy  and 
ordinary  tone.  M.  de  Camors,  under  the  pretext  of 
slight  fatigue,  retired  as  he  had  entered — saluting  both 
the  ladies,  but  without  attempting  to  take  their  hands. 
Thus  was  inaugurated,  between  Madame  de  Camors 
and  her  husband,  the  new,  singular  relation  which 
should  hereafter  be  the  only  tie  in  their  common  life. 

The  world  might  easily  be  silenced,  because  M.  de 
Camors  never  had  been  very  demonstrative  in  public 
toward  his  wife,  and  his  courteous  but  reserved  manner 
toward  her  did  not  vary  from  his  habitual  demeanor. 
He  remained  two  days  at  Reuilly. 

Madame  de  Tecle  vainly  waited  for  these  two  days 
for  a  slight  explanation,  which  she  did  not  wish  to  de- 
mand, but  which  she  hoped  for. 

What  were  the  terrible  circumstances  which  had 
overruled  the  will  of  M.  de  Camors,  •  to  the  point  of 
making  him  forget  the  most  sacred  sentiments  ?  When 
her  thoughts  plunged  into  this  dread  mystery,  they  never 
approached  the  truth.  M.  de  Camors  might  have  com- 
mitted this  base  action  under  the  menace  of  some  great 
danger  to  save  the  fortune,  the  honor,  probably  the  life 
of  Madame  de  Campvallon.  This,  though  a  poor  ex- 
cuse in  the  mother's  eyes,  still  was  an  extenuation. 
Probably  also  he  had  in  his  heart,  while  marrying  her 

««  [  '73  ] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

daughter,  the  resolution  to  break  off  this  fatal  liaison, 
which  he  had  again  resumed  against  his  will,  as  often 
happens.  On  all  these  painful  points  she  dwelt  after 
the  departure  of  M.  de  Camors,  as  she  had  previous  to 
his  arrival;  confined  to  her  own  conjectures,  when  she 
suggested  to  her  daughter  the  most  consolatory  appear- 
ances. It  was  agreed  upon  that  Madame  de  Camors 
should  remain  in  the  country  until  her  health  was  rees- 
tablished: only  her  husband  expressed  the  desire  that 
she  should  reside  ordinarily  on  his  estate  at  Reuilly,  the 
chateau  on  which  had  recently  been  restored  with  the 
greatest  taste. 

Madame  de  Tecle  felt  the  propriety  of  this  arrange- 
ment. She  herself  abandoned  the  old  habitation  of  the 
Comte  de  Tecle,  to  install  herself  near  her  daughter  in 
the  modest  chateau  which  belonged  to  the  maternal 
ancestors  of  M.  de  Camors,  and  which  we  have  already 
described  in  another  place,  with  its  solemn  avenue,  its 
balustrades  of  granite,  its  labyrinths  of  hornbeams  and 
the  black  fishpond,  shaded  with  poplars. 

Both  dwelt  there  in  the  midst  of  their  sweetest  and 
most  pleasant  souvenirs;  for  this  little  chateau,  so  long 
deserted — the  neglected  woods  which  surrounded  it— 
the  melancholy  piece  of  water — the  solitary  nymph- 
all  this  had  been  their  particular  domain,  the  favorite 
framework  of  their  reveries,  the  legend  of  their  infancy, 
the  poetry  of  their  youth.  It  was  doubtless  a  great  grief 
to  revisit  again,  with  tearful  eyes  and  wounded  hearts 
and  heads  bowed  by  the  storms  of  life,  the  familiar 
paths  where  they  once  knew  happiness  and  peace.  But, 
nevertheless,  all  these  dear  confidants  of  past  joys,  of 

[274] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

blasted  hopes,  of  vanished  dreams — if  they  are  mourn- 
ful witnesses  they  are  also  friends.  We  love  them ;  and 
they  seem  to  love  us.  Thus  these  two  poor  women, 
straying  amid  these  woods,  these  waters,  these  soli- 
tudes, bearing  with  them  their  incurable  wounds,  fan- 
cied they  heard  voices  which  pitied  them  and  breathed 
a  healing  sympathy.  The  most  cruel  trial  reserved  to 
Madame  de  Camors  in  the  life  which  she  had  the  cour- 
age and  judgment  to  adopt,  was  assuredly  the  duty  of 
again  seeing  the  Marquise  de  Campvallon,  and  preserv- 
ing with  her  such  relations  as  might  blind  the  eyes  of 
the  General  and  of  the  world. 

She  resigned  herself  even  to  this;  but  she  desired  to 
defer  as  long  as  possible  the  pain  of  such  a  meeting. 
Her  health  supplied  her  with  a  natural  excuse  for  not 
going,  during  that  summer,  to  Campvallon,  and  also 
for  keeping  herself  confined  to  her  own  room  the  day 
the  Marquise  visited  Reuilly,  accompanied  by  the 
General. 

Madame  de  Tecle  received  her  with  her  usual  kind- 
ness. Madame  de  Campvallon,  whom  M.  de  Camors 
had  already  warned,  did  not  trouble  herself  much;  for 
the  best  women,  like  the  worst,  excel  in  comedy,  and 
everything  passed  off  without  the  General  having  con- 
ceived the  shadow  of  a  suspicion. 

The  fine  season  had  passed.  M.  de  Camors  had 
visited  the  country  several  times,  strengthening  at 
every  interview  the  new  tone  of  his  relations  ,vith  his 
wife.  He  remained  at  Reuilly,  as  was  his  custom,  dur- 
ing the  month  of  August ;  and  under  the  pretext  of  the 
health  of  the  Countess,  did  not  multiply  his  visits  that 

[275] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

year  to  Campvallon.  On  his  return  to  Paris,  he  re- 
sumed his  old  habits,  and  also  his  careless  egotism,  for 
he  recovered  little  by  little  from  the  blow  he  had  re- 
ceived. He  began  to  forget  his  sufferings  and  those  of 
his  wife;  and  even  to  felicitate  himself  secretly  on  the 
turn  that  chance  had  given  to  her  situation.  He  had 
obtained  the  advantage  and  had  no  longer  any  annoy- 
ance. His  wife  had  been  enlightened,  and  he  no  longer 
deceived  her — which  was  a  comfortable  thing  for  him. 
As  for  her,  she  would  soon  be  a  mother,  she  would  have 
a  plaything,  a  consolation;  and  he  designed  redoub- 
ling his  attentions  and  regards  to  her. 

She  would  be  happy,  or  nearly  so; — as  much  so  as 
two  thirds  of  the  women  in  the  world. 

Everything  was  for  the  best.  He  gave  anew  the 
reins  to  his  car  and  launched  himself  afresh  on  his  bril- 
liant career — proud  of  his  royal  mistress,  and  foreseeing 
in  the  distance,  to  crown  his  life,  the  triumphs  of  am- 
bition and  power.  Pleading  various  doubtful  engage- 
ments, he  went  to  Reuilly  only  once  during  the  autumn ; 
but  he  wrote  frequently,  and  Madame  de  Tecle  sent  him 
in  return  brief  accounts  of  his  wife's  health. 

One  morning  toward  the  close  of  November,  he  re- 
ceived a  despatch  which  made  him  understand,  in  tele- 
graphic style,  that  his  presence  was  immediately  re- 
quired at  Reuilly,  if  he  wished  to  be  present  at  the 
birth  of  his  son. 

Whenever  social  duties  or  courtesy  were  required  of 
M.  de  Camors,  he  never  hesitated.  Seeing  he  had  not 
a  moment  to  spare  if  he  wished  to  catch  the  train  which 
left  that  morning,  he  jumped  into  a  cab  and  drove  to 

[276] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  station.  His  servant  would  join  him  the  next 
morning. 

The  station  at  Reuilly  was  several  miles  distant  from 
the  house.  In  the  confusion  no  arrangement  had  been 
made  to  receive  him  on  his  arrival,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  content  himself  with  making  the  intermediate  jour- 
ney in  a  heavy  country- wagon.  The  bad  condition  of 
the  roads  was  a  new  obstacle,  and  it  was  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning  when  the  Count,  impatient  and  travel- 
worn,  jumped  out  of  the  little  cart  before  the  railings 
of  his  avenue.  He  strode  toward  the  house  under  the 
dark  and  silent  dome  of  the  tufted  elms.  He  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  avenue  when  a  sharp  cry  rent  the  air. 
His  heart  bounded  in  his  breast:  he  suddenly  stopped 
and  listened  attentively.  The  cry  echoed  through  the 
stillness  of  the  night.  One  would  have  deemed  it  the 
despairing  shriek  of  a  human  being  under  the  knife  of 
a  murderer. 

These  dolorous  sounds  gradually  ceasing,  he  con- 
tinued his  walk  with  greater  haste,  and  only  heard  the 
hollow  and  muffled  sound  of  his  own  beating  heart. 
At  the  moment  he  saw  the  lights  of  the  chateau,  an- 
other agonized  cry,  more  shrill  and  alarming  than  the 
first,  arose. 

This  time  Camors  stopped.  Notwithstanding  that 
the  natural  explanation  of  these  agonized  cries  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  mind,  he  was  troubled. 

It  is  not  unusual  that  men  like  him,  accustomed  to  a 
purely  artificial  life,  feel  a  strange  surprise  when  one  of 
the  simplest  laws  of  nature  presents  itself  all  at  once  be- 
fore them  with  a  violence  as  imperious  and  irresistible 

[277] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

as  a  divine  law.  Camors  soon  reached  the  house,  and 
receiving  some  information  from  the  servants,  notified 
Madame  de  Tecle  of  his  arrival.  Madame  de  Tecle 
immediately  descended  from  her  daughter's  room.  On 
seeing  her  convulsed  features  and  streaming  eyes,  "Are 
you  alarmed  ?"  Camors  asked,  quickly. 

"Alarmed?  No,"  she  replied;  "but  she  suffers 
much,  and  it  is  very  long." 

"Can  I  see  her?" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

Madame  de  Tecle,  whose  forehead  was  contracted, 
lowered  her  eyes,  then  raised  them.  "If  you  insist  on 
it,"  she  said. 

"I  insist  on  nothing!  If  you  believe  my  presence 
would  do  her  harm—  The  voice  of  Camors  was  not 
as  steady  as  usual. 

"I  am  afraid,"  replied  Madame  de  Tecle,  "that  it 
would  agitate  her  greatly;  and  if  you  will  have  con- 
fidence in  me,  I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you." 

"But  at  least,"  said  Camors,  "she  might  probably 
be  glad  to  know  that  I  have  come,  and  that  I  am  here 
—that  I  have  not  abandoned  her." 

"I  shall  tell  her." 

"It  is  well."  He  saluted  Madame  de  Tecle  with  a 
slight  movement  of  his  head,  and  turned  away  imme- 
diately. 

He  entered  the  garden  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
walked  abstractedly  from  alley  to  alley.  We  know  that 
generally  the  role  of  men  in  the  situation  in  which  M. 
de  Camors  at  this  moment  was  placed  is  not  very  easy 
or  very  glorious,  but  the  common  annoyance  of  this 

[278] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

position  was  particularly  aggravated  to  him  by  painful 
reflections.  Not  only  was  his  assistance  not  needed, 
but  it  was  repelled ;  not  only  was  he  far  from  a  support 
—on  the  contrary,  he  was  but  an  additional  danger  and 
sorrow.  In  this  thought  was  a  bitterness  which  he 
keenly  felt.  His  native  generosity,  his  humanity,  shud- 
dered as  he  heard  the  terrible  cries  and  accents  of  dis- 
tress which  succeeded  each  other  without  intermission. 
He  passed  some  heavy  hours  in  the  damp  garden  this 
cold  night,  and  the  chilly  morning  which  succeeded  it. 
Madame  de  Tecle  came  frequently  to  give  him  the 
news.  Near  eight  o'clock  he  saw  her  approach  him 
with  a  grave  and  tranquil  air. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  "it  is  a  boy." 

"I  thank  you.    How  is  she?" 

"Well.    I  shall  request  you  to  go  and  see  her  shortly." 

Half  an  hour  later  she  reappeared  on  the  threshold 
of  the  vestibule,  and  called : 

"Monsieur  de  Camors!"  and  when  he  approached 
her,  she  added,  with  an  emotion  which  made  her  lips 
tremble : 

"She  has  been  uneasy  for  some  time  past.  She  is 
afraid  that  you  have  kept  terms  with  her  in  order  to 
take  the  child.  If  ever  you  have  such  a  thought — not 
now,  Monsieur.  Have  you?" 

"You  are  severe,  Madame,"  he  replied  in  a  hoarse 
voice. 

She  breathed  a  sigh. 

"Come!"  she  said,  and  led  the  way  upstairs.  She 
opened  the  door  of  the  chamber  and  permitted  him  to 
enter  it  alone. 

t279] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

His  first  glance  caught  the  eyes  of  his  young  wife 
fixed  upon  him.  She  was  half  sitting  up  in  bed,  sup- 
ported by  pillows,  and  whiter  than  the  curtains  whose 
shadow  enveloped  her.  She  held  clasped  to  her  breast 
her  sleeping  infant,  which  was  already  covered,  like  its 
mother,  with  lace  and  pink  ribbons.  From  the  depths 
of  this  nest  she  fixed  on  her  husband  her  large  eyes, 
sparkling  with  a  kind  of  savage  light — an  expression  in 
which  the  sentiment  of  triumph  was  blended  with  one 
of  profound  terror.  He  stopped  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
bed,  and  saluted  her  with  his  most  winning  smile. 

"I  have  pitied  you  very  much,  Marie,"  he  said. 

"I  thank  you!"  she  replied,  in  a  voice  as  feeble  as  a 
sigh. 

She  continued  to  regard  him  with  the  same  suppliant 
and  affrighted  air. 

"Are  you  a  little  happier  now?"  he  continued. 

The  glittering  eye  of  the  young  woman  was  fastened 
on  the  calm  face  of  her  infant.  Then  turning  toward 
Camors— 

"You  will  not  take  him  from  me?" 

"Never!"  he  replied. 

As  he  pronounced  these  words  his  eyes  were  suddenly 
dimmed,  and  he  was  astonished  himself  to  feel  a  tear 
trickling  down  his  cheek.  He  experienced  a  singular 
feeling,  he  bent  over,  seized  the  folds  of  the  sheet, 
raised  them  to  his  lips,  rose  immediately  and  left  the 
room. 

In  this  terrible  struggle,  too  often  victorious  against 
nature  and  truth,  the  man  was  for  once  vanquished.  But 
it  would  be  idle  to  imagine  that  a  character  of  this  tern- 

[280] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

perament  and  of  this  obduracy  could  transform  itself, 
or  could  be  materially  modified  under  the  stroke  of  a  few 
transitory  emotions,  or  of  a  few  nervous  shocks.  M. 
de  Camors  rallied  quickly  from  his  weakness,  if  even 
he  did  not  repent  it.  He  spent  eight  days  at  Reuilly, 
remarking  in  the  countenance  of  Madame  de  Tecle 
and  in  her  manner  toward  him,  more  ease  than  for- 
merly. 

On  his  return  to  Paris,  with  thoughtful  care  he  made 
some  changes  in  the  interior  arrangement  of  his  man- 
sion. This  was  to  prepare  for  the  Countess  and  her 
son,  who  were  to  join  him  a  few  weeks  later,  larger  and 
more  comfortable  apartments,  in  which  they  were  to  be 
installed. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  REPTILE  TURNS   TO   STING 

HEN  Madame  de  Camors  came  to 
Paris  and  entered  the  home  of  her 
husband,  she  there  experienced  the 
painful  impressions  of  the  past,  and 
the  sombre  preoccupations  of  the 
future;  but  she  brought  with  her, 
although  in  a  fragile  form,  a  powerful 
consolation. 

Assailed  by  grief,  and  ever  menaced  by  new  emotion 
she  was  obliged  to  renounce  the  nursing  of  her  child; 
but,  nevertheless,  she  never  left  him,  for  she  was  jealous 
even  of  his  nurse.  She  at  least  wished  to  be  loved  by 
him.  She  loved  him  with  an  infinite  passion.  She 
loved  him  because  he  was  her  own  son  and  of  her  blood. 
He  was  the  price  of  her  misfortune — of  her  pain.  She 
loved  him  because  he  was  her  only  hope  of  human 
happiness  hereafter.  She  loved  him  because  she  found 
him  as  beautiful  as  the  day.  And  it  was  true  he  was  so ; 
for  he  resembled  his  father — and  she  loved  him  also  on 
that  account.  She  tried  to  concentrate  her  heart  and 
all  her  thoughts  on  this  dear  creature,  and  at  first  she 
thought  she  had  succeeded.  She  was  surprised  at  her- 
self, at  her  own  tranquillity,  when  she  saw  Madame  de 
Campvallon ;  for  her  lively  imagination  had  exhausted, 

[282J 


in  advance,  all  the  sadness  which  her  new  existence 
could  contain ;  but  when  she  had  lost  the  kind  of  torpor 
into  which  excessive  suffering  had  plunged  her—  when 
her  maternal  sensations  were  a  little  quieted  by  custom, 
her  woman's  heart  recovered  itself  in  the  mother's. 
She  could  not  prevent  herself  from  renewing  her  pas- 
sionate interest  in  her  graceful  though  terrible  hus- 
band. 

Madame  de  Tecle  went  to  pass  two  months  with  her 
daughter  in  Paris,  and  then  returned  to  the  country. 

Madame  de  Camors  wrote  to  her,  in  the  beginning 
of  the  following  spring,  a  letter  which  gave  her  an  exact 
idea  of  the  sentiments  of  the  young  woman  at  the  time, 
and  of  the  turn  her  domestic  life  had  taken.  After  a 
long  and  touching  detail  of  the  health  and  beauty  of  her 
son  Robert,  she  added : 

"  His  father  is  always  to  me  what  you  have  seen  him.  He  spares 
me  everything  he  can  spare  me,  but  evidently  the  fatality  he  has 
obeyed  continues  under  the  same  form.  Notwithstanding,  I  do 
not  despair  of  the  future,  my  beloved  mother.  Since  I  saw  that 
tear  in  his  eye,  confidence  has  entered  my  poor  heart.  Be  assured, 
my  adored  mother,  that  he  will  love  me  one  day,  if  it  is  only 
through  our  child,  whom  he  begins  quietly  to  love  without  himself 
perceiving  it.  At  first,  as  you  remember,  this  infant  was  no  more 
to  him  than  I  was.  When  he  surprised  him  on  my  knee,  he  would 
give  him  a  cold  kiss,  say,  'Good-morning,  Monsieur,'  and  with- 
draw. It  is  just  one  month — I  have  forgotten  the  date — it  was, 
'Good-morning,  my  son — how  pretty  you  are!'  You  see  the 
progress;  and  do  you  know,  finally,  what  passed  yesterday?  I 
entered  Robert's  room  noiselessly;  the  door  was  open — what  did 
I  behold,  my  mother!  Monsieur  de  Camors,  with  his  head  resting 
on  the  pillow  of  the  cradle,  and  laughing  at  this  little  creature,  who 
smiled  back  at  him!  I  assure  you,  he  blushed  and  excused  him- 

[283] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

self:  '  The  door  was  open,  'he  said,  'and  I  came  in.'    I  assured  him 
that  he  had  done  nothing  wrong. 

"Monsieur  de  Camors  is  very  odd  sometimes.  He  occasionally 
passes  the  limits  which  were  agreed  upon  as  necessary.  He  is  not 
only  polite,  but  takes  great  trouble.  Alas!  once  these  courtesies 
would  have  fallen  upon  my  heart  like  roses  from  heaven — now 
they  annoy  me  a  little.  Last  evening,  for  example,  I  sat  down,  as 
is  my  custom,  at  my  piano  after  dinner,  he  reading  a  journal  at  the 
chimney-corner — his  usual  hour  for  going  out  passed.  Behold  me, 
much  surprised.  I  threw  a  furtive  glance,  between  two  bars  of 
music,  at  him:  he  was  not  reading,  he  was  not  sleeping — he  was 
dreaming.  'Is  there  anything  new  in  the  Journal? " — 'No,  no; 
nothing  at  all.'  Another  two  or  three  bars  of  music,  and  I  entered 
my  son's  room.  He  was  in  bed  and  asleep.  I  devoured  him  with 
kisses  and  returned — Monsieur  de  Camors  was  still  there.  And 
now,  surprise  after  surprise :  '  Have  you  heard  from  your  mother  ? 
What  does  she  say  ?  Have  you  seen  Madame  Jaubert  ?  Have  you 
read  this  review  ? '  Just  like  one  who  sought  to  open  a  conversa- 
tion. Once  I  would  willingly  have  paid  with  my  blood  for  one  of 
these  evenings,  and  now  he  offers  them  to  me,  when  I  know  not 
what  to  do  with  them.  Notwithstanding  I  remember  the  advice 
of  my  mother,  I  do  not  wish  to  discourage  these  symptoms.  I 
adopt  a  festive  manner.  I  light  four  extra  wax-lights.  I  try  to  be 
amiable  without  being  coquettish;  for  coquetry  here  would  be 
shameful — would  it  not,  my  dear  mother?  Finally,  we  chatted 
together;  he  sang  two  airs  to  the  piano;  I  played  two  others;  he 
painted  the  design  of  a  little  Russian  costume  for  Robert  to  wear 
next  year;  then  talked  politics  to  me.  This  enchanted  me.  He 
explained  to  me  his  situation  in  the  Chamber.  Midnight  arrived ; 
I  became  remarkably  silent ;  he  rose :  '  May  I  press  your  hand  in 
friendship?' — 'Mon  Dieul  yes.'  'Good-night,  Marie.' — 'Good- 
night.' Yes,  my  mother,  I  read  your  thoughts.  There  is  danger 
here!  but  you  have  shown  it  to  me;  and  I  believe  also,  I  should 
have  perceived  it  by  myself.  Do  not  fear,  then.  I  shall  be  happy 
at  his  good  inclinations,  and  shall  encourage  them  to  the  best  of 
my  power;  but  I  shall  not  be  in  haste  to  perceive  a  return,  on  his 

[284] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

part,  toward  virtue  and  myself.  I  see  here  in  society  arrangements 
which  revolt  me.  In  the  midst  of  my  misfortune  I  remain  pure 
and  proud;  but  I  should  fall  into  the  deepest  contempt  of  myself 
if  I  should  ever  permit  myself  to  be  a  plaything  for  Monsieur  de 
Camors.  A  man  so  fallen  does  not  raise  himself  in  a  day.  If  ever 
he  really  returns  to  me,  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  have  much 
proof.  I  never  have  ceased  to  love  him,  and  probably  he  doubts 
it :  but  he  will  learn  that  if  this  sad  love  can  break  my  heart  it  can 
never  abase  it ;  and  it  is  unnecessary  to  tell  my  mother  that  I  shall 
live  and  die  courageously  in  my  widow's  robe. 

"There  are  other  symptoms  which  also  strike  me.  He  is  more 
attentive  to  me  when  she  is  present.  This  may  probably  be  ar- 
ranged between  them,  but  I  doubt  it.  The  other  evening  we  were 
at  the  General's.  She  was  waltzing,  and  Monsieur  de  Camors,  as 
a  rare  favor,  came  and  seated  himself  at  your  daughter's  side.  In 
passing  before  us  she  threw  him  a  look — a  flash.  I  felt  the  flame. 
Her  blue  eyes  glared  ferociously.  He  perceived  it.  I  have  not 
assuredly  much  tenderness  for  her.  She  is  my  most  cruel  enemy ; 
but  if  ever  she  suffers  what  she  has  made  me  suffer — yes,  I  believe 
I  shall  pity  her.  My  mother,  I  embrace  you.  I  embrace  our 
dear  lime-trees.  I  taste  their  young  leaves  as  in  olden  times. 
Scold  me  as  in  old  times,  and  love,  above  all  things,  as  in  old 
times,  your  MARIE." 

This  wise  young  woman,  matured  by  misfortune, 
observed  everything — saw  everything-  and  exaggerated 
nothing.  She  touched,  in  this  letter,  on  the  most  deli- 
cate points  in  the  household  of  M.  de  Camors — and 
even  of  his  secret  thoughts — with  accurate  justice.  For 
Camors  was  not  at  all  converted,  nor  near  being  so; 
but  it  would  be  belying  human  nature  to  attribute  to 
his  heart,  or  that  of  any  other  human  being,  a  super- 
natural impassibility.  If  the  dark  and  implacable  the- 
ories which  M.  de  Camors  had  made  the  law  of  his 

[285] 


existence  could  triumph  absolutely,  this  would  be  true. 
The  trials  he  had  passed  through  did  not  reform  him, 
they  only  staggered  him.  He  did  not  pursue  his  paths 
with  the  same  firmness;  he  strayed  from  his  pro- 
gramme. He  pitied  one  of  his  victims,  and,  as  one 
wrong  always  entails  another,  after  pitying  his  wife,  he 
came  near  loving  his  child.  These  two  weaknesses  had 
glided  into  his  petrified  soul  as  into  a  marble  fount,  and 
there  took  root— two  imperceptible  roots,  however. 
The  child  occupied  him  not  more  than  a  few  moments 
every  day.  He  thought  of  him,  however,  and  would 
return  home  a  little  earlier  than  usual  each  day  than 
was  his  habit-,  secretly  attracted  by  the  smile  of  that 
fresh  face.  The  mother  was  for  him  something  more. 
Her  sufferings,  her  youthful  heroism  had  touched 
him.  She  became  somebody  in  his  eyes.  He  discovered 
many  merits  in  her.  He  perceived  she  was  remarkably 
well-informed  for  a  woman,  and  prodigiously  so  for  a 
French  woman.  She  understood  half  a  word — knew 
a  great  deal — and  guessed  at  the  remainder.  She  had, 
in  short,  that  blending  of  grace  and  solidity  which  gives 
to  the  conversation  of  a  woman  of  cultivated  mind  an 
incomparable  charm.  Habituated  from  infancy  to  her 
mental  superiority  as  to  her  pretty  face,  she  carried  the 
one  as  unconsciously  as  the  other.  She  devoted  herself 
to  the  care  of  his  household  as  if  she  had  no  idea  be- 
yond it.  There  were  domestic  details  which  she  would 
not  confide  to  servants.  She  followed  them  into  her 
salons,  into  her  boudoirs,  a  blue  feather-brush  in  hand, 
lightly  dusting  the  eiageres,  the  jardinieres,  the  consoles. 
She  arranged  one  piece  pf  furniture  and  removed  an- 

[286] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

other,  put  flowers  in  a  vase — gliding  about  and  singing 
like  a  bird  in  a  cage. 

Her  husband  sometimes  amused  himself  in  following 
her  with  his  eye  in  these  household  occupations.  She 
reminded  him  of  the  princesses  one  sees  in  the  ballet  of 
the  opera,  reduced  by  some  change  of  fortune  to  a  tem- 
porary servitude,  who  dance  while  putting  the  house  in 
order. 

"How  you  love  order,  Marie!"  said  he  to  her  one 
day. 

"Order"  she  said,  gravely,  "is  the  moral  beauty  of 
things." 

She  emphasized  the  word  things — and,  fearing  she 
might  be  considered  pretentious,  she  blushed. 

She  was  a  lovable  creature,  and  it  can  be  understood 
that  she  might  have  many  attractions,  even  for  her  hus- 
band. Yet  though  he  had  not  for  one  instant  the  idea 
of  sacrificing  to  her  the  passion  that  ruled  his  life,  it  is 
certain,  however,  that  his  wife  pleased  him  as  a  charm- 
ing friend,  which  she  was,  and  probably  as  a  charming 
forbidden  fruit,  which  she  also  was.  Two  or  three  years 
passed  without  making  any  sensible  change  in  the  rela- 
tions of  the  different  persons  in  this  history.  This  was 
the  most  brilliant  phase  and  probably  the  happiest  in 
the  life  of  M.  de  Camors. 

His  marriage  had  doubled  his  fortune,  and  his  clever 
speculations  augmented  it  every  day.  He  had  increased 
the  retinue  of  his  house  in  proportion  to  his  new  re- 
sources. In  the  region  of  elegant  high  life  he  decidedly 
held  the  sceptre.  His  horses,  his  equipages,  his  artistic 
tastes,  even  his  toilet,  set  the  law. 

1*9] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

His  liaison  with  Madame  de  Campvallon,  without 
being  proclaimed,  was  suspected,  and  completed  his 
prestige.  At  the  same  time  his  capacity  as  a  political 
man  began  to  be  acknowledged.  He  had  spoken  in 
some  recent  debate,  and  his  maiden  speech  was  a  tri- 
umph. His  prosperity  was  great.  It  was  nevertheless 
true  that  M.  de  Camors  did  not  enjoy  it  without  trouble. 
Two  black  spots  darkened  the  sky  above  his  head,  and 
might  contain  destroying  thunder.  His  life  was  eternally 
suspended  on  a  thread. 

Any  day  General  Campvallon  might  be  informed 
of  the  intrigue  which  dishonored  him,  either  through 
some  selfish  treason,  or  through  some  public  rumor, 
which  might  begin  to  spread.  Should  this  ever  happen, 
he  knew  the  General  never  would  submit  to  it ;  and  he 
had  determined  never  to  defend  his  life  against  his  out- 
raged friend. 

This  resolve,  firmly  decided  upon  in  his  secret  soul, 
gave  him  the  last  solace  to  his  conscience.  All  his 
future  destiny  was  thus  at  the  mercy  of  an  accident 
most  likely  to  happen.  The  second  cause  of  his  dis- 
quietude wras  the  jealous  hatred  of  Madame  Campval- 
lon toward  the  young  rival  she  had  herself  selected. 
After  jesting  freely  on  this  subject  at  first,  the 
Marquise  had,  little  by  little,  ceased  even  to  allude 
to  it. 

M.  de  Camors  could  not  misunderstand  certain  mute 
symptoms,  and  was  sometimes  alarmed  at  this  silent 
jealousy.  Fearing  to  exasperate  this  most  violent  femi- 
nine sentiment  in  so  strong  a  soul,  he  was  compelled 
day  by  day  to  resort  to  tricks  which  wounded  his  pride, 

[288! 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

and  probably  his  heart  also;  for  his  wife,  to  whom  his 
new  conduct  was  inexplicable,  suffered  intensely,  and 
he  saw  it. 

One  evening  in  the  month  of  May,  1860,  there  was 
a  reception  at  the  Hotel  Campvallon.  The  Marquise, 
before  leaving  for  the  country,  was  making  her  adieus 
to  a  choice  group  of  her  friends.  Although  this  fete 
professed  to  be  but  an  informal  gathering,  she  had 
organized  it  with  her  usual  elegance  and  taste.  A  kind 
of  gallery,  composed  of  verdure  and  of  flowers,  con- 
nected the  salon  with  the  conservatory  at  the  other  end 
of  the  garden. 

This  evening  proved  a  very  painful  one  to  the  Com- 
tesse  de  Camors.  Her  husband's  neglect  of  her  was  so 
marked,  his  assiduities  to  the  Marquise  so  persistent, 
their  mutual  understanding  so  apparent,  that  the  young 
wife  felt  the  pain  of  her  desertion  to  an  almost  insup- 
portable degree.  She  took  refuge  in  the  conservatory, 
and  finding  herself  alone  there,  she  wept. 

A  few  moments  later,  M.  de  Camors,  not  seeing  her 
in  the  salon,  became  uneasy.  She  saw  him,  as  he  en- 
tered the  conservatory,  in  one  of  those  instantaneous 
glances  by  which  women  contrive  to  see  without  look- 
ing. She  pretended  to  be  examining  the  flowers,  and 
by  a  strong  effort  of  will  dried  her  tears.  Her  husband 
advanced  slowly  toward  her. 

"What  a  magnificent  camellia ! "  he  said  to  her.  " Do 
you  know  this  variety?" 

"Very  well,"  she  replied;  "this  is  the  camellia  that 
weeps." 

He  broke  off  the  flowers. 

19  [289] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Marie,"  he  said,  "I  never  have  been  much  addicted 
to  sentimentality,  but  this  flower  I  shall  keep." 

She  turned  upon  him  her  astonished  eyes. 

"  Because  I  love  it,"  he  added. 

The  noise  of  a  step  made  them  both  turn.  It  was 
Madame  de  Campvallon,  who  was  crossing  the  con- 
servatory on  the  arm  of  a  foreign  diplomat. 

" Pardon  me,"  she  said,  smiling;  "I  have  disturbed 
you!  How  awkward  of  me!"  and  she  passed  out. 

Madame  de  Camors  suddenly  grew  very  red,  and  her 
husband  very  pale.  The  diplomat  alone  did  not  change 
color,  for  he  comprehended  nothing.  The  young  Count- 
ess, under  pretext  of  a  headache,  which  her  face  did  not 
belie,  returned  home  immediately,  promising  her  hus- 
band to  send  back  the  carriage  for  him.  Shortly  after, 
the  Marquise  de  Campvallon,  obeying  a  secret  sign 
from  M.  de  Camors,  rejoined  him  in  the  retired  bou- 
doir, which  recalled  to  them  both  the  most  culpable  in- 
cident of  their  lives.  She  sat  down  beside  hi^i  on  the 
divan  with  a  haughty  nonchalance. 

"What  is  it?"  she  said. 

"Why  do  you  watch  me?"  asked  Camors.  "It  is 
unworthy  of  you!" 

"Ah!  an  explanation?  a  disagreeable  thing.  It  is 
the  first  between  us — at  least  let  us  be  quick  and 
complete." 

She  spoke  in  a  voice  of  restrained  passion — her 
eyes  fixed  on  her  foot,  which  she  twisted  in  her  satin 
shoe. 

"Well,  tell  the  truth,"  she  said.  "You  are  in  love 
with  your  wife." 

[290] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Unworthy  of  you,  I 
repeat." 

"What,  then,  mean  these  delicate  attentions  to  her?" 

"You  ordered  me  to  marry  her,  but  not  to  kill  her, 
I  suppose?" 

She  made  a  strange  movement  of  her  eyebrows, 
which  he  did  not  see,  for  neither  of  them  looked  at  the 
other.  After  a  pause  she  said : 

"She  has  her  son!  She  has  her  mother!  I  have  no 
one  but  you.  Hear  me,  my  friend;  do  not  make  me 
jealous,  for  when  I  am  so,  ideas  torment  me  which  ter- 
rify even  myself.  Wait  an  instant.  Since  we  are  on  this 
subject,  if  you  love  her,  tell  me  so.  You  know  me— 
you  know  I  am  not  fond  of  petty  artifices.  Well,  I  fear 
so  much  the  sufferings  and  humiliations  of  which  I  have 
a  presentiment,  I  am  so  much  afraid  of  myself,  that  I 
offer  you,  and  give  you,  your  liberty.  I  prefer  this  hor- 
rible grief,  for  it  is  at  least  open  and  noble!  It  is  no 
snare  that  I  set  for  you,  believe  me!  Look  at  me.  I 
seldom  weep."  The  dark  blue  of  her  eyes  was  bathed 
in  tears.  "Yes,  I  am  sincere;  and  I  beg  of  you,  if  it  is 
so,  profit  by  this  moment,  for  if  you  let  it  escape,  you 
never  will  find  it  again." 

M.  de  Camors  was  little  prepared  for  this  decided 
proposal.  The  idea  of  breaking  off  his  liaison  with  the 
Marquise  never  had  entered  his  mind.  This  liaison 
seemed  to  him  very  reconcilable  with  the  sentiments 
with  which  his  wife  could  inspire  him. 

It  was  at  the  same  time  the  greatest  wickedness  and 
the  perpetual  danger  of  his  life,  but  it  was  also  the  ex- 
citement, the  pride,  and  the  magnificent  voluptuous- 

[291] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

ness  of  it.  He  shuddered.  The  idea  of  losing  the  love 
which  had  cost  him  so  dear  exasperated  him.  He  cast 
a  burning  glance  on  this  beautiful  face,  refined  and  ex- 
alted as  that  of  a  warring  archangel. 

"My  life  is  yours,"  he  said.  "How  could  you  have 
dreamed  of  breaking  ties  like  ours?  How  could  you 
have  alarmed  yourself,  or  even  thought  of  my  feelings 
toward  another  ?  I  do  what  honor  and  humanity  com- 
mand me — nothing  more.  As  for  you — I  love  you— 
understand  that." 

"  Is  it  true  ? ' '  she  asked .    "  It  is  true !    I  believe  you ! ' ' 

She  took  his  hand,  and  gazed  at  him  a  moment  with- 
out speaking — her  eye  dimmed,  her  bosom  palpitating; 
then  suddenly  rising,  she  said,  "My  friend,  you  know  I 
have  guests!"  and  saluting  him  with  a  smile,  left  the 
boudoir. 

This  scene,  however,  left  a  disagreeable  impression 
on  the  mind  of  Camors.  He  thought  of  it  impatiently 
the  next  morning,  while  trying  a  horse  on  the  Champs 
Elysees — when  he  suddenly  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  his  former  secretary,  Vautrot.  He  had  never  seen 
this  person  since  the  day  he  had  thought  proper  to  give 
himself  his  own  dismissal. 

The  Champs  Elyse'es  was  deserted  at  this  hour. 
Vautrot  could  not  avoid,  as  he  had  probably  done  more 
than  once,  encountering  Camors. 

Seeing  himself  recognized  he  saluted  him  and  stopped, 
with  an  uneasy  smile  on  his  lips.  His  worn  black 
coat  and  doubtful  linen  showed  a  poverty  unacknowl- 
edged but  profound.  M.  de  Camors  did  not  notice 
these  details,  or  his  natural  generosity  would  have 

[292] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

awakened,  and  curbed  the  sudden  indignation  that  took 
possession  of  him. 

He  reined  in  his  horse  sharply. 

"Ah,  is  it  you,  Monsieur  Vautrot?"  he  said.  "You 
have  left  England  then!  What  are  you  doing  now?" 

"I  am  looking  for  a  situation,  Monsieur  de  Camors," 
said  Vautrot,  humbly,  who  knew  his  old  patron  too  well 
not  to  read  clearly  in  the  curl  of  his  moustache  the 
warning  of  a  storm. 

"And  why,"  said  Camors,  "do  you  not  return  to 
your  trade  of  locksmith?  You  were  so  skilful  at  it! 
The  most  complicated  locks  had  no  secrets  for  you." 

"I  do  not  understand  your  meaning,"  murmured 
Vautrot. 

"Droll  fellow!"  and  throwing  out  these  words  with 
an  accent  of  withering  scorn,  M.  de  Camors  struck 
Vautrot's  shoulder  lightly  with  the  end  of  his  riding- 
whip,  and  tranquilly  passed  on  at  a  walk. 

Vautrot  was  truly  in  search  of  a  place,  had  he  con- 
sented to  accept  one  fitted  to  his  talents;  but  he  was, 
as  will  be  remembered,  one  of  those  whose  vanity  was 
greater  than  his  merits,  and  one  who  loved  an  office 
better  than  work. 


[293] 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  SECOND  ACT  OF  THE  TRAGEDY 

'AUTROT  had  at  this  time  fallen  into 
the  depth  of  want  and  distress,  which, 
if  aggravated,  would  prompt  him  to 
evil  and  even  to  crime.  There  are 
many  examples  of  the  extremes  to 
which  this  kind  of  intelligence,  at  once 
ambitious,  grasping,  yet  impotent, 
can  transport  its  possessor.  Vautrot, 
in  awaiting  better  times,  had  relapsed  into  his  old  role 
of  hypocrite,  in  which  he  had  formerly  succeeded  so 
well.  Only  the  evening  before  he  had  returned  to  the 
house  of  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan,  and  made  hon- 
orable amends  for  his  philosophical  heresies;  for  he 
was  like  the  Saxons  in  the  time  of  Charlemagne,  who 
asked  to  be  baptized  every  time  they  wanted  new  tunics. 
Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  had  given  a  kind  reception 
to  this  sad  prodigal  son,  but  she  chilled  perceptibly  on 
seeing  him  more  discreet  than  she  desired  on  certain 
subjects,  the  mystery  of  which  she  had  set  her  heart 
upon  unravelling. 

She  was  now  more  preoccupied  than  ever  about  the 
relations  which  she  suspected  to  exist  between  M.  de 
("amors  and  Madame  de  Campvallon.  These  relations 
could  not  but  prove  fatal  to  the  hopes  she  had  so  long 

[294] 


founded  on  the  widowhood  of  the  Marquise  and  the 
heritage  of  the  General.  The  marriage  of  M.  de  Camors 
had  for  the  moment  deceived  her,  but  she  was  one  of 
those  pious  persons  who  always  think  evil,  and  whose 
suspicions  are  soon  reawakened.  She  tried  to  obtain 
from  Vautrot,  who  had  so  long  been  intimate  with  her 
nephew,  some  explanation  of  the  mystery ;  but  as  Vau- 
trot was  too  prudent  to  enlighten  her,  she  turned  him 
out  of  doors. 

After  his  encounter  with  M.  de  Camors,  he  imme- 
diately turned  his  steps  toward  the  Rue  St.  Dominique, 
and  an  hour  later  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  had  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  all  that  he  knew  of  the  liaison  be- 
tween the  Count  and  the  Marquise.  But  we  remem- 
ber that  he  knew  everything.  These  revelations,  though 
not  unexpected,  terrified  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan, 
who  saw  her  maternal  projects  destroyed  forever.  To 
her  bitter  feeling  at  this  deception  was  immediately 
joined,  in  this  base  soul,  a  sudden  thirst  for  revenge. 
It  was  true  she  had  been  badly  recompensed  for  her 
anonymous  letter,  by  which  she  had  previously  at- 
tempted to  open  the  eyes  of  the  unfortunate  General; 
for  from  that  moment  the  General,  the  Marquise,  and 
M.  de  Camors  himself,  without  an  open  rupture,  let 
her  feel  their  marks  of  contempt,  which  embittered  her 
heart.  She  never  would  again  expose  herself  to  a  simi- 
lar slight  of  this  kind;  but  she  must  assuredly,  in  the 
cause  of  good  morals,  at  once  confront  the  blind  with  the 
culpable,  and  this  time  with  such  proofs  as  would 
make  the  blow  irresistible.  By  the  mere  thought,  Ma- 
dame de  la  Roche- Jugan  had  persuaded  herself  that  the 

[295] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

new  turn  events  were  taking  might  become  favorable  to 
the  expectations  which  had  become  the  fixed  idea  of 
her  life. 

Madame  de  Campvallon  destroyed,  M.  de  Camors 
set  aside,  the  General  would  be  alone  in  the  world;  and 
it  was  natural  to  suppose  he  would  turn  to  his  young 
relative  Sigismund,  if  only  to  recognize  the  far-sighted 
affection  and  wounded  heart  of  Madame  de  la  Roche- 
Jugan. 

The  General,  in  fact,  had  by  his  marriage  contract 
settled  all  his  property  on  his  wife ;  but  Madame  de  la 
Roche- Jugan,  who  had  consulted  a  lawyer  on  this  ques- 
tion, knew  that  he  had  the  power  of  alienating  his  fort- 
une during  life,  and  of  stripping  his  unworthy  wife  and 
transferring  it  to  Sigismund. 

Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  did  not  shrink  from  the 
probability — which  was  most  likely — of  an  encounter 
between  the  General  and  Camors.  Every  one  knows 
the  disdainful  intrepidity  of  women  in  the  matter  of 
duels.  She  had  no  scruple,  therefore,  in  engaging  Vau- 
trot  in  the  meritorious  work  she  meditated.  She  se- 
cured him  by  some  immediate  advantages  and  by 
promises;  she  made  him  believe  the  General  would 
recompense  him  largely.  Vautrot,  smarting  still  from 
the  cut  of  Camors' s  whip  on  his  shoulder,  and  ready  to 
kill  him  with  his  own  hand  had  he  dared,  hardly  re- 
quired the  additional  stimulus  of  gain  to  aid  his  pro- 
tectress in  her  vengeance  by  acting  as  her  instrument. 

He  resolved,  however,  since  he  had  the  opportunity, 
to  put  himself,  once  for  all,  beyond  misery  and  want, 
by  cleverly  speculating,  through  the  secret  he  held,  on 

[296] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  great  fortune  of  the  General.  This  secret  he  had 
already  given  to  Madame  de  Camors  under  the  inspira- 
tion of  another  sentiment,  but  he  had  then  in  his  hands 
the  proofs,  which  he  now  was  without. 

It  was  necessary,  then,  for  him  to  arm  himself  with 
new  and  infallible  proofs;  but  if  the  intrigue  he  was 
required  to  unmask  still  existed,  he  did  not  despair  of 
detecting  something  certain,  aided  by  the  general 
knowledge  he  had  of  the  private  habits  and  ways  of 
Camors.  This  was  the  task  to  which  he  applied  him- 
self from  this  moment,  day  and  night,  with  an  evil 
ardor  of  hate  and  jealousy.  The  absolute  confidence 
which  the  General  reposed  in  his  wife  and  Camors 
after  the  latter' s  marriage  with  Marie  de  Tecle,  had 
doubtless  allowed  them  to  dispense  with  much  of  the 
mystery  and  adventure  of  their  intrigue ;  but  that  which 
was  ardent,  poetic,  and  theatrical  to  the  Marquise's 
imagination  had  not  been  lost.  Love  alone  was  not 
sufficient  for  her.  She  needed  danger,  scenic  effect, 
and  pleasure  heightened  by  terror.  Once  or  twice,  in 
the  early  time,  she  was  reckless  enough  to  leave  her 
house  during  the  night  and  to  return  before  day.  But 
she  was  obliged  to  renounce  these  audacious  flights, 
finding  them  too  perilous. 

These  nocturnal  interviews  with  M.  de  Camors  were 
rare,  and  she  had  usually  received  him  at  home.  This 
was  their  arrangement:  An  open  space,  sometimes 
used  as  a  wood -yard,  was  next  the  garden  of  the  H6tel 
Campvallon.  The  General  had  purchased  a  portion  of 
it  and  had  had  a  cottage  erected  in  the  midst  of  a 
kitchen-garden,  and  had  placed  in  it,  with  his  usual 

[297] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

kind-heartedness,  an  old  sotts-officier,  named  Mesnil, 
who  had  served  under  him  in  the  artillery.  This  Mesnil 
enjoyed  his  master's  confidence.  He  was  a  kind  of  for- 
ester on  the  property;  he  lived  in  Paris  in  the  winter, 
but  occasionally  passed  two  or  three  days  in  the  country 
whenever  the  General  wished  to  obtain  information 
about  the  crops.  Madame  de  Campvallon  and  M.  de 
Camors  chose  the  time  of  these  absences  for  their  dan- 
gerous interviews  at  night.  Camors,  apprised  from 
within  by  some  understood  signal,  entered  the  enclosure 
surrounding  the  cottage  of  Mesnil,  and  thence  pro- 
ceeded to  the  garden  belonging  to  the  house.  Madame 
de  Campvallon  always  charged  herself  with  the  peril 
that  charmed  her — with  keeping  open  one  of  the  win- 
dows on  the  ground  floor.  The  Parisian  custom  of 
lodging  the  domestics  in  the  attics  gave  to  this  hardi- 
hood a  sort  of  security,  notwithstanding  its  being  always 
hazardous.  Near  the  end  of  May,  one  of  these  occa- 
sions, always  impatiently  awaited  on  both  sides,  pre- 
sented itself,  and  M.  de  Camors  at  midnight  penetrated 
into  the  little  garden  of  the  old  sous-officier.  At  the 
moment  when  he  turned  the  key  in  the  gate  of  the  en- 
closure, he  thought  he  heard  a  slight  sound  behind  him. 
He  turned,  cast  a  rapid  glance  over  the  dark  space  that 
surrounded  him,  and  thinking  himself  mistaken,  en- 
tered. An  instant  after,  the  shadow  of  a  man  appeared 
at  the  angle  of  a  pile  of  lumber,  which  was  scattered 
over  the  carpenter's  yard.  This  shadow  remained  for 
some  time  immovable  in  front  of  the  windows  of  the 
hotel  and  then  plunged  again  into  the  darkness. 
The  following  week  M.  de  Carnors  was  at  the  club 
[298] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

one  evening,  playing  whist  with  the  General.  He  re- 
marked that  the  General  was  not  playing  his  usual 
game,  and  saw  also  imprinted  on  his  features  a  painful 
preoccupation. 

"Are  you  in  pain,  General?"  said  he,  after  they  had 
finished  their  game. 

"No,  no!"  said  the  General;  "I  am  only  annoyed— 
a  tiresome  affair  between  two  of  my  people  in  the  coun- 
try. I  sent  Mesnil  away  this  morning  to  examine 
into  it." 

The  General  took  a  few  steps,  then  returned  to  Ca- 
mors  and  took  him  aside:  "My  friend,"  he  said,  "I 
deceived  you,  just  now;  I  have  something  on  my  mind 
—something  very  serious.  I  am  even  very  unhappy!" 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  Camors,  whose  heart 
sank. 

"I  shall  tell  you  that  probably  to-morrow.  Come, 
in  any  case,  to  see  me  to-morrow  morning.  Won't 
you?" 

"Yes,  certainly." 

"Thanks!  Now  I  shall  go — for  I  am  really  not 
well." 

He  clasped  his  hand  more  affectionately  than  usual. 

"Adieu,  my  dear  child,"  he  added,  and  turned 
around  brusquely  to  hide  the  tears  which  suddenly 
filled  his  eyes.  M.  de  Camors  experienced  for  some 
moments  a  lively  disquietude,  but  the  friendly  and 
tender  adieus  of  the  General  reassured  him  that  it  did 
not  relate  to  himself.  Still  he  continued  astonished  and 
even  affected  by  the  emotion  of  the  old  man. 

Was  it  not  strange?  If  there  was  one  man  in  the 
[299] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

world  whom  he  loved,  or  to  whom  he  would  have 
devoted  himself,  it  was  this  one  whom  he  had  mortally 
wronged. 

He  had,  however,  good  reason  to  be  uneasy;  and 
was  wrong  in  reassuring  himself;  for  the  General 
in  the  course  of  that  evening  had  been  informed  of  the 
treachery  of  his  wife — at  least  he  had  been  prepared 
for  it.  Only  he  was  still  ignorant  of  the  name  of  her 
accomplice. 

Those  who  informed  him  were  afraid  of  encounter- 
ing the  blind  and  obstinate  faith  of  the  General,  had 
they  named  Camors. 

It  was  probable,  also,  after  what  had  already  oc- 
curred, that  had  they  again  pronounced  that  name, 
the  General  would  have  repelled  the  suspicion  as  a 
monstrous  impossibility,  regretting  even  the  thought. 

M.  de  Camors  remained  until  one  o'clock  at  the  club 
and  then  went  to  the  Rue  Vanneau.  He  was  intro- 
duced into  the  Hotel  Campvallon  with  the  customary 
precautions;  and  this  time  we  shall  follow  him  there. 
In  traversing  the  garden,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  Gen- 
eral's window,  and  saw  the  soft  light  of  the  night-lamp 
burning  behind  the  blinds. 

The  Marquise  awaited  him  at  the  door  of  her  bou- 
doir, which  opened  on  a  rotunda  at  an  elevation  of  a 
few  feet.  He  kissed  her  hand,  and  told  her  in  few 
words  of  the  General's  sadness. 

She  replied  that  she  had  been  very  uneasy  about  his 
health  for  some  days.  This  explanation  seemed  nat- 
ural to  M.  de  Camors,  and  he  followed  the  Marquise 
through  the  dark  and  silent  salon,  She  held  in  her 

[300] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

hand  a  candle,  the  feeble  light  of  which  threw  on  her 
delicate  features  a  strange  pallor.  When  they  passed 
up  the  long,  echoing  staircase,  the  rustling  of  her  skirt 
on  the  steps  was  the  only  sound  that  betrayed  her  light 
movement. 

She  stopped  from  time  to  time,  shivering — as  if  better 
to  taste  the  dramatic  solemnity  that  surrounded  them— 
turned  her  blonde  head  a  little  to  look  at  Camors;  then 
cast  on  him  her  inspiring  smile,  placed  her  hand  on  her 
heart,  as  if  to  say,  "I  am  fearful,"  and  went  on.  They 
reached  her  chamber,  where  a  dim  lamp  faintly  illu- 
mined the  sombre  magnificence,  the  sculptured  wain- 
scotings,  and  the  heavy  draperies. 

The  flame  on  the  hearth  which  flickered  up  at  in- 
tervals, threw  a  bright  gleam  on  two  or  three  pictures 
of  the  Spanish  school,  which  were  the  only  decorations 
of  this  sumptuous,  but  stern-looking  apartment. 

The  Marquise  sank  as  if  terrified  on  a  divan  near 
the  chimney,  and  pushed  with  her  feet  two  cushions 
before  her,  on  which  Camors  half  reclined;  she  then 
thrust  back  the  thick  braids  of  her  hair,  and  leaned 
toward  her  lover. 

"Do  you  love  me  to-day?"  she  asked. 

The  soft  breath  of  her  voice  was  passing  over  the 
face  of  Camors,  when  the  door  suddenly  opened  be- 
fore them.  The  General  entered.  The  Marquise 
and  Camors  instantly  rose  to  their  feet,  and  standing 
side  by  side,  motionless,  gazed  upon  him.  The  Gen- 
eral paused  near  the  door.  As  he  saw  them  a  shudder 
passed  over  his  frame,  and  his  face  assumed  a  livid 
pallor.  For  an  instant  his  eye  rested  on  Camors  with 

[301] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

a  stupefied  surprise  and  almost  bewilderment;  then  he 
raised  his  arms  over  his  head,  and  his  hands  struck  to- 
gether with  a  sharp  sound.  At  this  terrible  moment 
Madame  de  Campvallon  seized  the  arm  of  Camors, 
and  threw  him  a  look  so  profound,  supplicating,  and 
tragic,  that  it  alarmed  him. 

He  roughly  pushed  her  from  him,  crossed  his  arms, 
and  waited  the  result. 

The  General  walked  slowly  toward  him.  Suddenly 
his  face  became  inflamed  with  a  purple  hue;  his  lips 
half  opened,  as  if  about  to  deliver  some  deadly  insult. 
He  advanced  rapidly,  his  hand  raised;  but  after  a  few 
steps  the  old  man  suddenly  stopped,  beat  the  air  with 
both  hands,  as  if  seeking  some  support,  then  staggered 
and  fell  forward,  striking  his  head  against  the  marble 
mantelpiece,  rolled  on  the  carpet,  and  remained  mo- 
tionless. There  was  an  ominous  silence.  A  stifled  cry 
from  M.  de  Camors  broke  it.  At  the  same  time  he 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  by  the  side  of  the  motionless 
old  man,  touched  first  his  hand,  then  his  heart.  He  saw 
that  he  was  dead.  A  thin  thread  of  blood  trickled 
down  his  pale  forehead  where  it  had  struck  the  marble ; 
but  this  was  only  a  slight  wound.  It  was  not  that  which 
had  killed  him.  It  was  the  treachery  of  those  two  be- 
ings whom  he  had  loved,  and  who,  he  believed,  loved 
him.  His  heart  had  been  broken  by  the  violence  of  the 
surprise,  the  grief,  and  the  horror. 

One  look  of  Camors  told  Madame  de  Campvallon 
she  was  a  widow.  She  threw  herself  on  the  divan, 
buried  her  face  in  the  cushions  and  sobbed  aloud. 
Camors  still  stood,  his  back  against  the  mantelpiece, 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

his  eyes  fixed,  wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts.  He 
wished  in  all  sincerity  of  heart  that  he  could  have 
awakened  the  dead  and  restored  him  to  life.  He  had 
sworn  to  deliver  himself  up  to  him  without  defence,  if 
ever  the  old  man  demanded  it  of  him  for  forgotten  fa- 
vors, betrayed  friendship,  and  violated  honor.  Now 
he  had  killed  him.  If  he  had  not  slain  him  with  his 
own  hand,  the  crime  was  still  there,  in  its  most  hideous 
form.  He  saw  it  before  him,  he  inhaled  its  odor — he 
breathed  its  blood.  An  uneasy  glance  of  the  Marquise 
recalled  him  to  himself  and  he  approached  her.  They 
then  conversed  together  in  whispers,  and  he  hastily 
explained  to  her  the  line  of  conduct  she  should  adopt. 

She  must  summon  the  servants,  say  the  General  had 
been  taken  suddenly  ill,  and  that  on  entering  her  room 
he  had  been  seized  by  an  apoplectic  stroke. 

It  was  with  some  effort  that  she  understood  she  was 
to  wait  long  enough  before  giving  the  alarm  to  give 
Camors  sufficient  time  to  escape;  and  until  then  she 
was  to  remain  in  this  frightful  tete-a-tete,  alone  with  the 
dead. 

He  pitied  her,  and  decided  on  leaving  the  hotel  by 
the  apartment  of  M.  de  Campvallon,  which  had  a 
private  entrance  on  the  street. 

The  Marquise  immediately  rang  violently  several 
times,  and  Camors  did  not  retire  till  he  heard  the 
sound  of  hastening  feet  on  the  stairs.  The  apartment 
of  the  General  communicated  with  that  of  his  wife  by 
a  short  gallery.  There  was  a  suite  of  apartments — 
first  a  study,  then  his  sleeping-room.  M.  de  Camors 
traversed  this  room  with  feelings  we  shall  not  attempt 

[3°3] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

to  describe  and  gained  the  street.  The  surgeon  testified 
that  the  General  had  died  from  the  rupture  of  a  vessel 
in  the  heart.  Two  days  after  the  interment  took  place, 
at  which  M.  de  Camors  attended.  The  same  evening 
he  left  Paris  to  join  his  wife,  who  had  gone  to  Reuilly 
the  preceding  week. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  FEATHER  IN  THE  BALANCE 

NE  of  the  sweetest  sensations  in  the 
world  is  that  of  a  man  who  has  just 
escaped  the  fantastic  terrors  of  night- 
mare; and  Tvho,  awaking,  his  fore- 
head bathed  with  icy  sweat,  says  to 
himself,  "It  was  only  a  dream!" 
This  was,  in  some  degree,  the  impres- 
sion which  Camors  felt  on  awaking, 
the  morning  after  his  arrival  at  Reuilly,  when  his  first 
glance  fell  on  the  sunlight  streaming  over  the  foliage, 
and  when  he  heard  beneath  his  window  the  joyous 
laugh  of  his  little  son.  He,  however,  was  not  dream- 
ing; but  his  soul,  crushed  by  the  horrible  tension  of 
recent  emotions,  had  a  moment's  respite,  and  drank  in, 
almost  without  alloy,  the  new  calm  that  surrounded 
him.  He  hastily  dressed  himself  and  descended  to  the 
garden,  where  his  son  ran  to  meet  him. 

M.  de  Camors  embraced  the  child  with  tenderness; 
and  leaning  toward  him,  spoke  to  him  in  a  low  voice, 
and  asked  after  his  mother  and  about  his  amusements, 
with  a  singularly  soft  and  sad  manner.  Then  he  let 
him  go,  and  walked  with  a  slow  step,  breathing  the 
fresh  morning  air,  examining  the  leaves  and  the  flowers 
with  extraordinary  interest.  From  time  to  time  a  deep, 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

sad  sigh  broke  from  his  oppressed  chest ;  he  passed  his 
hand  over  his  brow  as  if  to  efface  the  importunate 
images.  He  sat  down  amid  the  quaintly  clipped  box- 
wood which  ornamented  the  garden  in  the  antique 
fashion,  called  his  son  again  to  him,  held  him  be- 
tween his  knees,  interrogating  him  again,  in  a  low 
voice,  as  he  had  done  before;  then  drew  him  toward 
him  and  clasped  him  tightly  for  a  long  time,  as  if  to 
draw  into  his  own  heart  the  innocence  and  peace  of 
the  child's.  Madame  de  Camors  surprised  him  in  this 
gush  of  feeling,  and  remained  mute  with  astonishment. 
He  rose  immediately  and  took  her  hand. 

"How  well  you  bring  him  up!"  he  said.  "I  thank 
you  for  it.  He  will  be  worthy  of  you  and  of  your 
mother." 

She  was  so  surprised  at  the  soft,  sad  tone  of  his 
voice,  that  she  replied,  stammering  with  embarrass- 
ment, "And  worthy  of  you  also,  I  hope." 

"Of  me?"  said  Camors,  whose  lips  were  slightly 
tremulous.  "Poor  child,  I  hope  not!"  and  rapidly 
withdrew. 

Madame  de  Camors  and  Madame  de  Tecle  had 
learned,  the  previous  morning,  of  the  death  of  the  Gen- 
eral. The  evening  of  the  Count's  arrival  they  did  not 
speak  to  him  on  the  subject,  and  were  cautious  not  to 
make  any  allusion  to  it.  The  next  day,  and  the  suc- 
ceeding ones,  they  practised  the  same  reserve,  though 
very  far  from  suspecting  the  fatal  circumstances  which 
rendered  this  souvenir  so  painful  to  M.  de  Camors. 
They  thought  it  only  natural  he  should  be  pained  at 
so  sudden  a  catastrophe,  and  that  his  conscience 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

should  be  disturbed;  but  they  were  astonished  when 
this  impression  prolonged  itself  from  day  to  day,  until 
it  took  the  appearance  of  a  lasting  sentiment. 

They  began  to  believe  that  there  had  arisen  between 
Madame  de  Campvallon  and  himself,  probably  occa- 
sioned by  the  General's  death,  some  quarrel  which 
had  weakened  the  tie  between  them. 

A  journey  of  twenty-four  hours,  which  he  made 
fifteen  days  after  his  arrival,  was  to  them  a  confirma- 
tion of  the  truth  they  before  suspected ;  but  his  prompt 
return,  his  new  tastes,  which  kept  him  at  Reuilly  dur- 
ing the  summer,  seemed  to  them  favorable  symptoms. 

He  was  singularly  sad,  pensive,  and  more  inactive 
than  usual  in  his  habits.  He  took  long  walks  alone. 
Sometimes  he  took  his  son  with  him,  as  if  by  chance. 
He  sometimes  attempted  a  little  timid  tenderness  with 
his  wife;  and  this  awkwardness,  on  his  part,  was  quite 
touching. 

"Marie,"  he  said  to  her  one  day,  "you,  who  are  a 
fair}',  wave  your  wand  over  Reuilly  and  make  of  it  an 
island  in  mid -ocean." 

"You  say  that  because  you  know  how  to  swim," 
said  she,  laughing  and  shaking  her  head;  but  the 
heart  of  the  young  woman  was  joyful. 

"You  embrace  me  now  ever}7  moment,  my  little 
one,"  said  Madame  de  Tecle  to  her.  "Is  this  really 
all  intended  fof  me?" 

"My  adorable  mother,"  while  embracing  her  again, 
"I  assure  you  he  is  really  courting  me  again.  Why, 
I  am  ignorant;  but  he  is  courting  me  and  you  also, 
my  mother.'  Observe  it!" 

[307} 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Madame  de  Tecle  did  observe  it.  In  his  conversa- 
tion with  her,  M.  de  Camors  sought,  under  every  pre- 
text, to  recall  the  souvenirs  of  the  past,  common  to 
them  both.  It  seemed  he  wished  to  link  the  past  with 
his  new  life;  to  forget  the  rest,  and  pray  of  them  to 
forget  it  also. 

It  was  not  without  fear  that  these  two  charming 
women  abandoned  themselves  to  their  hopes.  They 
remembered  they  were  in  the  presence  of  an  uncertain 
person;  they  little  trusted  a  change  so  sudden,  the 
reason  of  which  they  could  not  comprehend.  They 
feared  it  was  some  passing  caprice,  which  would  re- 
turn to  them,  if  they  were  its  dupes,  all  their  misfor- 
tunes, without  the  dignity  which  had  hitherto  attended 
them. 

They  were  not  the  only  ones  struck  by  this  trans- 
formation. M.  des  Rameures  remarked  it  to  them. 
The  neighboring  country  people  felt  in  the  Count's 
language  something  new — as  it  were,  a  tender  hu- 
mility; they  said  that  in  other  years  he  had  been 
polite,  but  this  year  he  was  angelic.  Even  the  inani- 
mate things,  the  woods,  the  trees,  the  heavens,  should 
have  borne  the  same  testimony,  for  he  looked  at  and 
studied  them  with  a  benevolent  curiosity  with  which 
he  had  never  before  honored  them. 

In  truth,  a  profound  trouble  had  invaded  him  and 
would  not  leave  him.  More  than  once,  before  this 
epoch,  his  soul,  his  philosophy,  his  pride,  had  received 
a  rude  shock,  but  he  had  no  less  pursued  his  path, 
rising  after  every  blow,  like  a  lion  wounded,  but  un- 
conquered.  In  trampling  under  his  feet  all  moral 

[308] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

belief  which  binds  the  vulgar,  he  had  reserved  honor 
as  an  inviolable  limit.  Then,  under  the  empire  of  his 
passions,  he  said  to  himself  that,  after  all,  honor,  like 
all  the  rest,  was  conventional.  Then  he  encountered 
crime — he  touched  it  with  his  hand — horror  seized  him 
—and  he  recoiled.  He  rejected  with  disgust  the  prin- 
ciple which  had  conducted  him  there — asked  himself 
what  would  become  of  human  society  if  it  had  no 
other. 

The  simple  truths  which  he  had  misunderstood  now 
appeared  to  him  in  their  tranquil  splendor.  He  could 
not  yet  distinguish  them  clearly;  he  did  not  try  to  give 
them  a  name,  but  he  plunged  with  a  secret  delight  into 
their  shadow's  and  their  peace.  He  sought  them  in  the 
pure  heart  of  his  child,  in  the  pure  love  of  his  young 
.wife,  in  the  daily  miracles  of  nature,  in  the  harmonies 
of  the  heavens,  and  probably  already  in  the  depths  of 
his  thoughts — in  God.  In  the  midst  of  this  approach 
toward  a  new  life  he  hesitated.  Madame  de  Camp- 
vallon  was  there.  He  still  loved  her  vaguely.  Above 
all,  he  could  not  abandon  her  without  being  guilty  of 
a  kind  of  baseness.  Terrible  struggles  agitated  him. 
Having  done  so  much  evil,  would  he  now  be  permitted 
to  do  good,  and  gracefully  partake  of  the  joys  he  fore- 
saw ?  These  ties  with  the  past,  his  fortune  dishonestly 
acquired,  his  fatal  mistress — the  spectre  of  that  old  man 
— would  they  permit  it? 

And  we  may  add,  would  Providence  suffer  it?  Not 
that  we  should  lightly  use  this  word  Providence,  and 
suspend  over  M.  de  Camors  a  menace  of  supernat- 
ural chastisement.  Providence  does  not  intervene 

[309] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

in  human  events  except  through  the  logic  of  her 
eternal  laws.  She  has  only  the  sanction  of  these 
laws;  and  it  is  for  this  reason  she  is  feared.  At 
the  end  of  August  M.  de  Camors  repaired  to  the 
principal  town  in  the  district,  to  perform  his  duties 
in  the  Council-General.  The  session  finished,  he  paid 
a  visit  to  Madame  de  Campvallon  before  returning  to 
Reuilly.  He  had  neglected  her  a  little  in  the  course  of 
the  summer,  and  had  only  visited  Campvallon  at  long 
intervals,  as  politeness  compelled  him.  The  Marquise 
wished  to  keep  him  for  dinner,  as  she  had  no  guests 
with  her.  She  pressed  him  so  warmly  that,  reproach- 
ing himself  all  the  time,  he  consented.  He  never  saw 
her  without  pain.  She  always  brought  back  to  him 
those  terrible  memories,  but  also  that  terrible  intoxica- 
tion. She  had  never  been  more  beautiful.  Her  deep 
mourning  embellished  yet  more  her  languishing  and 
regal  grace;  it  made  her  pale  complexion  yet  more 
fair,  and  it  heightened  the  brilliancy  of  her  look.  She 
had  the  air  of  a  young  tragic  queen,  or  of  an  allegory 
of  Night.  In  the  evening  an  hour  arrived  when  the 
reserve  which  for  some  time  had  marked  their  relations 
was  forgotten.  M.  de  Camors  found  himself,  as  in 
olden  time,  at  the  feet  of  the  young  Marquise — his 
eyes  gazing  into  hers,  and  covering  with  kisses  her 
lovely  hands.  She  was  strange  that  evening.  She 
looked  at  him  with  a  wild  tenderness,  instilling,  at 
pleasure,  into  his  veins  the  poison  of  burning  passion: 
then  escaping  him,  the  tears  gathering  in  her  eyes. 
Suddenly,  by  one  of  those  magical  movements  of  hers, 
she  enveloped  with  her  hands  the  head  of  her  lover, 

[3*0] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

and  spoke  to  him  quite  low  beneath  the  shadow  of  this 
perfumed  veil. 

"We  might  be  so  happy!"  she  said. 

"Are  we  not  so?"  said  Camors. 

"No!  I  at  least  am  not,  for  you  are  not  all  mine, 
as  I  am  yours.  This  appears  harder,  now  that  I  am 
free.  If  you  had  remained  free — when  I  think  of  it! 
or  if  you  could  become  so,  it  would  be  heaven!" 

"You  know  that  I  am  not  so!    Why  speak  of  it?" 

She  drew  nearer  to  him,  and  with  her  breath,  more 
than  with  her  voice,  answered : 

"  Is  it  impossible  ?    Tell  me ! " 

"How?"  he  demanded. 

She  did  not  reply,  but  her  fixed  look,  caressing  and 
cruel,  answered  him. 

"Speak,  then,  I  beg  of  you!"  murmured  Camors. 

"Have  you  not  told  me — I  have  not  forgotten  it— 
that  we  are  united  by  ties  stronger  than  all  others; 
that  the  world  and  its  laws  exist  no  longer  for  us; 
that  there  is  no  other  good,  no  other  bad  for  us,  but 
our  happiness  or  our  unhappiness?  Well,  we  are  not 
happy,  and  if  we  could  be  so — listen,  I  have  thought 
well  over  it!" 

Her  lips  touched  the  cheek  of  Camors,  and  the  mur- 
mur of  her  last  words  was  lost  in  her  kisses. 

Camors  roughly  repelled  her,  sprang  up,  and  stood 
before  her. 

"Charlotte,"  he  said,  sternly,  "this  is  only  a  trial,  I 
hope;  but,  trial  or  no,  never  repeat  it — never!  Re- 
member!" 

She  also  quickly  drew  herself  up. 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

"Ah!  how  you  love  her!"  she  cried.  "Yes,  you 
love  her,  it  is  she  you  love — I  know  it,  I  feel  it,  and 
I — I  am  only  the  wretched  object  of  your  pity,  or  of 
your  caprice.  Very  well,  go  back  to  her — go  and  pro- 
tect her,  for  I  swear  to  you  she  is  in  peril!" 

He  smiled  with  his  haughty  irony. 

"Let  us  see  your  plot,"  he  said.  "So  you  intend 
to  kUl  her?" 

"If  I  can!"  she  said;  and  her  superb  arm  was 
stretched  out  as  if  to  seize  a  weapon. 

"What!  with  your  own  hand?" 

"The  hand  shall  be  found." 

"You  are  so  beautiful  at  this  moment!"  said  Ca- 
mors;  "I  am  dying  with  the  desire  to  fall  at  your 
feet.  Acknowledge  only  that  you  wished  to  try  me, 
or  that  you  were  mad  for  a  moment." 

She  gave  a  savage  smile. 

"Oh!  you  fear,  my  friend,"  she  said,  coldly;  then 
raising  again  her  voice,  which  assumed  a  malignant 
tone,  "You  are  right,  I  am  not  mad,  I  did  not  wish  to 
try  you;  I  am  jealous,  I  am  betrayed,  and  I  shall 
revenge  myself — no  matter  what  it  costs  me — for  I 
care  for  nothing  more  in  this  world! — Go,  and  guard 
her!" 

"Be  it  so;  I  go,"  said  Camors.  He  immediately 
left  the  salon  and  the  chateau;  he  reached  the  railway 
station  on  foot,  and  that  evening  arrived  at  Reuilly. 

Something  terrible  there  awaited  him. 

During  his  absence  Madame  de  Camors,  accom- 
panied by  her  mother,  had  gone  to  Paris  to  make  some 
purchases.  She  remained  there  three  days.  She  had 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

returned  only  that  morning.  He  himself  arrived  late 
in  the  evening.  He  thought  he  observed  some  con- 
straint in  their  reception  of  him,  but  he  did  not  dwell 
upon  it  in  the  state  of  mind  in  which  he  was. 

This  is  what  had  occurred:  Madame  de  Camors, 
during  her  stay  in  Paris,  had  gone,  as  was  her  custom, 
to  visit  her  aunt,  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan.  Their 
intercourse  had  always  been  very  constrained.  Neither 
their  characters  nor  their  religion  coincided.  Madame 
dc  Camors  contented  herself  with  not  liking  her  aunt, 
but  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  hated  her  niece.  She 
found  a  good  occasion  to  prove  this,  and  did  not  lose 
it.  They  had  not  seen  each  other  since  the  General's 
d.-ath.  This  event,  which  should  have  caused  Madame 
dc  la  Roche- Jugan  to  reproach  herself,  had  simply 
exasperated  her.  Her  bad  action  had  recoiled  upon 
herself.  The  death  of  M.  Campvallon  had  finally  de- 
stroyed her  last  hopes,  which  she  had  believed  she  could 
have  founded  on  the  anger  and  desperation  of  the  old 
man.  Since  that  time  she  was  animated  against  her 
nephew  and  the  Marquise  with  the  rage  of  one  of  the 
Furies.  She  learned  through  Vautrot  that  M.  de  Camors 
had  been  in  the  chamber  of  Madame  de  Campvallon 
the  night  of  the  General's  death.  On  this  foundation 
of  truth  she  did  not  fear  to  frame  the  most  odious  sus- 
picions; and  Vautrot,  baffled  like  her  in  his  vengeance 
and  in  his  envy,  had  aided  her.  A  few  sinister  rumors, 
escaping  apparently  from  this  source,  had  even  crept  at 
this  time  into  Parisian  society. 

M.  de  Camors  and  Madame  de  Campvallon,  sus- 
pecting that  they  had  been  betrayed  a  second  time  by 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan,  had  broken  with  her; 
and  she  could  presume  that,  should  she  present  herself 
at  the  door  of  the  Marquise,  orders  would  have  been 
given  not  to  admit  her.  This  affront  made  her  angrier 
still.  She  was  still  a  prey  to  the  violence  of  her  wrath 
when  she  received  a  visit  from  Madame  de  Camors. 
She  affected  to  make  the  General's  death  the  theme  of 
conversation,  shed  a  few  tears  over  her  old  friend,  and 
kissed  the  hand  of  her  niece  with  a  burst  of  tender- 
ness. 

"My  poor  little  thing!"  she  said  to  her;  "it  is  for 
you  also  I  weep — for  you  will  yet  be  more  unhappy 
than  heretofore,  if  that  can  be  possible." 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  Madame,"  answered  the 
young  woman,  coldly. 

"If  you  do  not  understand  me,  so  much  the  better," 
replied  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan,  with  a  shade  of 
bitterness;  then,  after  a  moment's  pause — "Listen,  my 
dear!  this  is  a  duty  of  conscience  which  I  comply 
with.  You  see,  an  honest  creature  like  you  merits  a 
better  fate;  and  your  mother  too,  who  is  also  a  dupe. 
That  man  would  deceive  the  good  God.  In  the  name 
of  my  family,  I  feel  bound  to  ask  your  pardon  for 
both  of  them." 

"I  repeat,  Madame,  that  I  do  not  understand 
you." 

"But  it  is  impossible,  my  child — come! — it  is  im- 
possible that  all  this  time  you  have  suspected  noth- 
ing." 

"I  suspect  nothing,  Madame,"  said  Madame  de 
Camors,  "because  I  know  all." 

[3H] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

"Ah!"  continued  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan,  dryly; 
"if  this  be  so,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  But  there  are 
persons,  in  that  case,  who  can  accommodate  their  con- 
sciences to  very  strange  things." 

"That  is  what  I  thought  a  moment  ago,  Madame," 
said  the  young  woman,  rising. 

"As  you  wish,  my  dear;  but  I  speak  in  your  own 
interest,  and  I  shall  reproach  myself  for  not  having 
spoken  to  you  more  clearly.  I  know  my  nephew  bet- 
ter than  you  will  ever  know  him;  and  the  other  also. 
Notwithstanding  you  say  so,  you  do  not  know  all;  let 
me  tell  you.  The  General  died  very  suddenly;  and 
after  him,  it  is  your  turn!  Be  very  careful,  my  poor 
child!" 

"Oh,  Madame!"  cried  the  young  woman,  becoming 
ghastly  pale;  "I  shall  never  see  you  again  while  I 
live!"  She  left  on  the  instant — ran  home,  and  there 
found  her  mother.  She  repeated  to  her  the  terrible 
words  she  had  just  heard,  and  her  mother  tried  to  calm 
her;  but  she  herself  was  disturbed.  She  went  imme- 
diately to  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan,  and  supplicated 
her  to  have  pity  on  them  and  to  retract  the  abominable 
innuendo  she  had  thrown  out,  or  to  explain  it  more 
fully.  She  made  her  understand  that  she  would  inform 
M.  de  Camors  of  the  affair  in  case  of  need,  and  that  he 
would  hold  his  cousin  Sigismund  responsible.  Terri- 
fied in  her  turn,  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  judged 
the  best  method  was  to  destroy  M.  de  Camors  in  the 
estimation  of  Madame  de  Tecle.  She  related  what 
had  been  told  her  by  Vautrot,  being  careful  not  to  com- 
promise herself  in  the  recital.  She  informed  her  of 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

the  presence  of  M.  de  Camors  at  the  General's  house 
the  night  of  his  death.  She  told  her  of  the  reports  that 
were  circulated,  and  mingling  calumny  with  truth,  re- 
doubling at  the  same  time  her  affection,  her  caresses, 
and  her  tears,  she  succeeded  in  giving  Madame  de 
Tecle  such  an  estimate  of  the  character  of  M.  de  Ca- 
mors, that  there  were  no  suspicions  or  apprehensions 
which  the  poor  woman,  from  that  moment,  did  not 
consider  legitimate  as  connected  with  him. 

Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  finally  offered  to  send 
Vautrot  to  her,  that  she  might  herself  interrogate  him. 
Madame  de  Tecle,  affecting  an  incredulity  and  a  tran- 
quillity she  did  not  feel,  refused  and  withdrew. 

On  her  returning  to  her  daughter,  she  forced  herself 
to  deceive  her  as  to  the  impressions  she  had  received, 
but  she  did  not  succeed;  for  her  anxious  face  belied 
her  reassuring  words.  They  separated  the  following 
night,  mutually  concealing  the  trouble  and  distress  of 
their  souls;  but  accustomed  so  long  to  think,  feel,  and 
suffer  together,  they  met,  so  to  speak,  in  the  same  re- 
flections, the  same  reasonings,  and  in  the  same  terrors. 
They  went  over,  in  their  memories,  all  the  incidents 
of  the  life  of  Camors — all  his  faults;  and,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  monstrous  action  imputed  to  him,  his 
faults  took  a  criminal  character  which  they  were  sur- 
prised they  had  not  seen  before.  They  discovered  a 
series  and  a  sequence  in  his  designs,  all  of  which  were 
imputed  to  him  as  crimes — even  his  good  actions. 
Thus  his  conduct  during  the  last  few  months,  his 
strange  ways,  his  fancy  for  his  child  and  for  his  wife, 
his  assiduous  tenderness  toward  her,  were  nothing 


MONSIEUR  I)E  CAMORS 

more  than  the  hypocritical  meditation  of  a  new  crime 
— a  mask  which  he  was  preparing  in  advance. 

What  was  to  be  done?  What  kind  of  life  was 
it  possible  to  live  in  common,  under  the  weight  of 
such  thoughts  ?  What  present — what  future  ?  These 
thoughts  bewildered  them.  Next  day  Camors  could 
not  fail  remarking  the  singular  change  in  their  counte- 
nances in  his  presence;  but  he  knew  that  his  servant, 
without  thinking  of  harm,  had  spoken  of  his  visit  to 
Madame  de  Campvallon,  and  he  attributed  the  cold- 
ness and  embarrassment  of  the  two  women  to  this 
fact.  He  was  less  disquieted  at  this,  because  he  was 
resolved  to  keep  them  entirely  safe.  As  a  result  of 
his  reflections  during  the  night,  he  had  determined  to 
break  off  forever  his  intrigue  with  Madame  de  Camp- 
vallon. For  this  rupture,  which  he  had  made  it  a 
point  of  honor  not  to  provoke,  Madame  de  Camp- 
vallon had  herself  furnished  him  a  sufficient  pretext. 

The  criminal  thought  she  had  suggested  was,  he 
knew,  only  a  feint  to  test  him,  but  it  was  enough  to 
justify  his  abandonment  of  her.  As  to  the  violent  and 
menacing  words  the  Marquise  had  used,  he  held  them 
of  little  value,  though  at  times  the  remembrance  of 
them  troubled  him.  Nevertheless,  for  many  years  he 
had  not  felt  his  heart  so  light.  This  wicked  tie  once 
broken,  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  resumed,  with  his  liberty, 
his  youth  and  virtue.  He  walked  and  played  a  part 
of  the  day  with  his  little  son.  After  dinner,  just  as 
night  fell,  clear  and  pure,  he  proposed  to  Madame  de 
Camors  a  tete-b-tete  excursion  in  the  woods.  He  spoke 
to  her  of  a  view  which  had  struck  him  shortly  before 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

on  such  a  night,  and  which  would  please,  he  said 
laughingly,  her  romantic  taste. 

He  would  not  permit  himself  to  be  surprised  at  the 
disinclination  she  manifested,  at  the  disquietude  which 
her  face  indicated,  or  at  the  rapid  glance  she  exchanged 
with  her  mother. 

The  same  thought,  and  that  a  most  fearful  one, 
entered  the  minds  of  both  these  unfortunate  women 
at  the  same  moment. 

They  were  still  under  the  impression  of  the  shock 
which  had  so  weakened  their  nerves,  and  the  brusque 
proposition  of  M.  de  Camors,  so  contrary  to  his  usual 
habits — the  hour,  the  night,  and  the  solitary  walk- 
had  suddenly  awakened  in  their  brains  the  sinister 
images  which  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan  had  laid 
there.  Madame  de  Camors,  however,  with  an  air  of 
resolution  the  circumstances  did  not  seem  entitled  to 
demand,  prepared  immediately  to  go  out,  then  fol- 
lowed her  husband  from  the  house,  leaving  her  lit- 
tle son  in  charge  of  her  mother.  They  had  only  to 
cross  the  garden  to  find  themselves  on  the  edge  of  the 
wood  which  almost  touched  their  dwelling,  and  which 
stretched  to  the  old  fields  inherited  from  the  Comte  de 
Tecle.  The  intention  of  Camors  in  seeking  this  tete- 
h-teie  was  to  confide  to  his  wife  the  decisive  determina- 
tion he  had  taken  of  delivering  up  to  her  absolutely 
and  without  reserve  his  heart  and  life,  and  to  enjoy  in 
these  solitudes  his  first  taste  of  true  happiness.  Sur- 
prised at  the  cold  distraction  with  which  his  young 
wife  replied  to  the  affectionate  gayety  of  his  language, 
he  redoubled  his  efforts  to  bring  their  conversation  to 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

a  tone  of  more  intimacy  and  confidence.  While  stop- 
ping at  intervals  to  point  out  to  her  some  effects  of 
light  and  shadow  in  their  walk,  he  began  to  question 
her  on  her  recent  trip  to  Paris,  and  on  the  persons  she 
had  seen  there.  She  named  Madame  Jaubert  and  a 
few  others;  then,  lowering  her  voice  against  her  will, 
mentioned  Madame  de  la  Roche- Jugan. 

"That  one,"  said  Camors,  "you  could  very  well 
have  dispensed  with.  I  forgot  to  warn  you  that  I  no 
longer  recognize  her." 

"Why?"  asked  she,  timidly. 

"Because  she  is  a  bad  woman,"  said  Camors. 
"When  we  are  a  little  more  intimate  with  each  other, 
you  and  I,"  he  added,  laughing,  "I  shall  edify  you  on 
this  character,  I  shall  tell  you  all — all,  understand." 

There  was  so  much  of  nature,  and  even  of  goodness 
in  the  accent  with  which  he  pronounced  these  words, 
that  the  Countess  felt  her  heart  half  comforted  from 
the  oppression  which  had  weighed  it  down.  She  gave 
herself  up  with  more  abandon  to  the  gracious  advances 
of  her  husband  and  to  the  slight  incidents  of  her  walk. 

The  phantoms  disappeared  little  by  little  from  her 
mind,  and  she  began  to  say  to  herself  that  she  hac;  been 
the  sport  of  a  bad  dream,  and  of  a  true  madness,  when 
a  singular  change  in  her  husband's  face  renewed  all 
her  terrors.  M.  de  Camors,  in  his  turn,  had  become 
absent  and  visibly  preoccupied  with  some  grave  care. 
He  spoke  with  an  effort,  made  half  replies,  meditated ; 
then  stopped  quickly  to  look  around  him,  like  a  fright- 
ened child.  These  strange  ways,  so  different  from  his 
former  temper,  alarmed  the  young  woman,  the  more 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

so  as  she  just  then  found  herself  in  the  most  distant 
part  of  the  wood. 

There  was  an  extraordinary  similarity  in  the  thoughts 
which  occupied  them  both.  At  the  moment  when 
Madame  Camors  was  trembling  for  fear  near  her  hus- 
band, he  was  trembling  for  her. 

He  thought  he  detected  that  they  were  followed ;  at 
different  times  he  thought  he  heard  in  the  thicket  the 
cracking  of  branches,  rattling  of  leaves,  and  finally  the 
sound  of  stealthy  steps.  These  noises  always  ceased 
on  his  stopping,  and  began  again  the  moment  he  re- 
sumed his  walk.  He  thought,  a  moment  later,  he  saw 
the  shadow  of  a  man  pass  rapidly  among  the  under- 
wood behind  them.  The  idea  of  some  woodman  came 
first  to  his  mind,  but  he  could  not  reconcile  this  with 
the  persistence  with  which  they  were  followed. 

He  finally  had  no  doubt  that  they  were  dogged— 
but  by  whom  ?  The  repeated  menaces  of  Madame  de 
Campvallon  against  the  life  of  Madame  dc  Camors, 
the  passionate  and  unbridled  character  of  this  woman, 
soon  presented  itself  to  his  thoughts,  suggested  this 
mysterious  pursuit,  and  awakened  these  frightful  sus- 
picions. 

He  did  not  imagine  for  a  moment  that  the  Marquise 
would  charge  herself  personally  with  the  infliction  of 
her  vengeance;  but  she  had  said — he  then  remem- 
bered— that  the  hand  would  be  found.  She  was  rich 
enough  to  find  it,  and  this  hand  might  now  be  here. 

He  did  not  wish  to  alarm  his  wife  by  calling  her 
attention  to  this  spectre,  which  he  believed  at  her  side, 
but  he  could  not  hide  from  her  his  agitation,  which 

[320] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

every  movement  of  his  caused  her  to  construe  as  falsely 
as  cruelly. 

"Marie,"  he  said,  "let  us  walk  a  little  faster,  I  beg 
of  you!  I  am  cold." 

He  quickened  his  steps,  resolved  to  return  to  the 
chateau  by  the  public  road,  which  was  bordered  with 
houses. 

When  he  reached  the  border  of  the  woods,  although 
he  thought  he  still  heard  at  intervals  the  sound  which 
had  alarmed  him,  he  reassured  himself  and  resumed 
his  flow  of  spirits  as  if  a  little  ashamed  even  of  his 
panic.  He  stopped  the  Countess  to  look  at  the  pre- 
text of  this  excursion.  This  was  the  rocky  wall  of 
the  deep  excavation  of  a  marl-pit,  long  since  abandoned. 
The  arbutus-trees  of  fantastic  shape  which  covered  the 
summit  of  these  rocks,  the  pendant  vines,  the  sombre 
ivy  which  carpeted  the  cliffs,  the  gleaming  white  stones, 
the  vague  reflections  in  the  stagnant  pool  at  the  bottom 
of  the  pit,  the  mysterious  light  of  the  moon,  made  a 
scene  of  wild  beauty. 

The  ground  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  marl-pit  was 
so  irregular,  and  the  thorny  underbrush  so  thick,  that 
when  pedestrians  wished  to  reach  the  nearest  highway 
they  were  compelled  either  to  make  a  long  detour  or 
to  cross  the  deepest  part  of  the  excavation  by  means 
of  the  trunks  of  two  great  trees,  which  had  been  cut  in 
half,  lashed  together,  and  thrown  across  the  chasm. 
Thus  they  formed  a  crude  bridge,  affording  a  passage 
across  the  deep  hollow  and  adding  to  the  picturesque 
aspect  of  this  romantic  spot. 

Madame  de  Camors  never  had  seen  anything  like 
ai  [321] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

this  peculiar  bridge,  which  had  been  laid  recently  at 
her  husband's  orders.  After  they  had  gazed  in  silence 
a  moment  into  the  depths  of  the  marl-pit,  Camors 
called  his  wife's  attention  to  the  unique  construction. 

"Do  you  intend  to  cross  that?"  she  asked,  briefly. 

"Yes,  if  you  are  not  afraid,"  said  Camors;  "I  shall 
be  close  beside  you,  you  know." 

He  saw  that  she  hesitated,  and,  looking  at  her 
closely  in  the  moonlight,  he  thought  her  face  was 
strangely  pale,  and  could  not  refrain  from  saying: 

"I  believed  that  you  had  more  courage." 

She  hesitated  no  longer,  but  stepped  upon  the  dan- 
gerous bridge.  In  spite  of  herself,  she  turned  her  head 
half  around,  in  a  backward  glance,  and  her  steady 
step  faltered.  Suddenly  she  tottered.  M.  de  Camors 
sprang  forward,  and,  in  the  agitation  of  the  moment, 
seized  her  in  an  almost  violent  grasp.  The  unhappy 
woman  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  made  a  gesture  as 
if  to  defend  herself,  repelling  his  touch;  then,  running 
wildly  across  the  bridge,  she  rushed  into  the  woods. 
M.  de  Camors,  astounded,  alarmed,  not  knowing  how 
to  interpret  his  wife's  strange  conduct,  immediately 
followed  her.  He  found  her  a  short  distance  beyond 
the  bridge,  leaning  against  the  first  tree  she  had  been 
able  to  reach.  She  turned  to  face  him,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  mingled  terror  and  menace,  and  as  he  ap- 
proached, she  shot  forth  the  single  word: 

"  Coward !" 

He  stared  at  her  in  sheer  amazement.  At  that  mo- 
ment there  was  a  sound  of  hurried  footsteps;  a  shadowy 
form  glided  toward  them  from  the  depth  of  the  thicket, 

[322] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

and  the  next  instant  Camors  recognized  Madame  de 
Tecle.  She  ran,  dishevelled  and  breathless,  toward 
her  daughter,  seized  her  by  the  hand  and,  drawing 
herself  up,  said  to  Camors: 

"If  you  kUl  one  of  us,  kill  both!" 

He  understood  the  mystery  in  a  flash.  A  stifled  cry 
escaped  him;  for  an  instant  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands;  then,  flinging  out  his  arms  in  a  gesture  of  des- 
pair, he  said: 

"So  you  took  me  for  a  murderer!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence. 

"Well!"  he  cried,  stamping  his  foot  with  sudden 
violence,  "why  do  you  stay  here,  then?  Run!  Fly! 
Save  yourselves  from  me!" 

Overcome  with  terror,  the  two  women  fled,  the 
mother  dragging  her  daughter.  The  next  moment 
they  had  disappeared  in  the  darkness  of  the  woods. 

Camors  remained  in  that  lonely  spot  many  hours, 
without  being  aware  of  the  passage  of  time.  At  inter- 
vals he  paced  feverishly  to  and  fro  along  the  narrow 
strip  of  land  between  the  woods  and  the  bridge;  then, 
stopping  short,  with  fixed  eyes,  he  became  lost  in 
thought,  and  stood  as  motionless  as  the  trunk  of  the 
tree  against  which  he  leaned.  If,  as  we  hope,  there  is 
a  Divine  hand  which  measures  justly  our  sorrows  ac- 
cording to  our  sins,  the  unhappy  man,  in  this  dark 
hour,  must  have  rendered  his  account. 


[323] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   CURTAIN   FALLS 

• 

"HE  next  morning  the  Marquise  de 
Campvallon  was  strolling  beside  a 
large  circular  sheet  of  water  which 
ornamented  the  lower  part  of  her 
park,  the  metallic  gleam  of  the  rip- 
pling waves  being  discernible  from 
afar  through  the  branches  of  the  sur- 
rounding trees. 
She  walked  slowly  along  the  bank  of  the  lake,  her 
head  bowed,  and  the  long  skirt  of  her  mourning-robe 
sweeping  the  grass.  Two  large  and  dazzlingly  white 
swans,  watching  their  mistress  eagerly,  in  expectation 
of  receiving  their  usual  titbits  from  her  hands,  swam 
close  to  the  bank,  following  her  steps  as  if  escorting 
her. 

Suddenly  the  Comte  de  Camors  appeared  before  her. 
She  had  believed  that  she  never  should  see  him  again. 
She  raised  her  head  quickly  and  pressed  one  hand  to 
her  heart. 

"Yes,  it  is  I!"  said  Camors.    "Give  me  your  hand." 
She  gave  it  to  him. 

"You  were  right,  Charlotte,"  he  said,  after  a  moment 
of  silence.  "Ties  like  ours  can  not  be  broken.  I  have 
reflected  on  everything.  I  was  seized  with  a  momen- 

[324] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

tary  cowardice,  for  which  I  have  reproached  myself 
bitterly,  and  for  which,  moreover,  I  have  been  suffi- 
ciently punished.  But  I  come  to  you  to  ask  your  for- 
giveness." 

The  Marquise  led  him  tenderly  into  the  deep  shadow 
of  the  great  plane-trees  that  surrounded  the  lake;  she 
knelt  before  him  with  theatric  grace,  and  fixed  on  him 
her  swimming  eyes.  She  covered  his  head  with  kisses. 
He  raised  her  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart. 

"But  you  do  not  wish  that  crime  to  be  committed  ?" 
he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

She  bent  her  head  with  mournful  indecision. 

"For  that  matter,"  he  added,  bitterly,  "it  would  only 
make  us  worthier  of  each  other;  for,  as  to  myself,  they 
have  already  believed  me  capable  of  it." 

He  took  her  arm  and  recounted  to  her  briefly  the 
scene  of  the  night  before. 

He  told  her  he  had  not  returned  home,  and  never 
should.  This  was  the  result  of  his  mournful  medita- 
tions. To  attempt  an  explanation  with  those  who  had 
so  mortally  outraged  him — to  open  to  them  the  depth 
of  his  heart — to  allude  to  the  criminal  thought  they 
had  accused  him  of — he  had  repelled  with  horror,  the 
evening  before,  when  proposed  by  another.  He  thought 
of  all  this;  but  this  humiliation — if  he  could  have  so 
abased  himself — would  have  been  useless.  How  could 
he  hope  to  conquer  by  these  words  the  distrust  capable 
of  creating  such  suspicions  ? 

He  confusedly  divined  the  origin,  and  understood 
that  this  distrust,  envenomed  by  remembrance  of  the 
past,  was  incurable. 

[325] 


The  sentiment  of  the  irreparable,  of  revolted  pride, 
indignation,  and  even  injustice,  had  shown  him  but 
one  refuge,  and  it  was  this  to  which  he  had  fled. 

The  Comtesse  de  Camors  and  Madame  de  Tecle 
learned  only  through  their  servants  and  the  public 
of  the  removal  of  the  Count  to  a  country-house  he 
had  rented  near  the  Chateau  Campvallon.  After  writ- 
ing ten  letters — all  of  which  he  had  burned — he  had  de- 
cided to  maintain  an  absolute  silence.  They  sometimes 
trembled  at  the  thought  he  might  take  away  his  son. 
He  thought  of  it;  but  it  was  a  kind  of  vengeance  that 
he  disdained. 

This  move,  which  publicly  proclaimed  the  relations 
existing  between  M.  de  Camors  and  the  Marquise, 
made  a  sensation  in  the  Parisian  world,  where  it  was 
soon  known.  It  revived  again  the  strange  recollections 
and  rumors  that  all  remembered.  Camors  heard  of 
them,  but  despised  them. 

His  pride,  which  was  then  exasperated  by  a  savage 
irritation,  was  gratified  at  defying  public  opinion, 
which  had  been  so  easily  duped  before.  He  knew  there 
was  no  situation  one  could  not  impose  upon  the  world 
providing  one  had  wealth  and  audacity.  From  this 
day  he  resumed  energetically  the  love  of  his  life,  his 
habits,  his  labors,  and  his  thoughts  for  the  future. 
Madame  de  Campvallon  was  the  confidante  of  all  his 
projects,  and  added  her  own  care  to  them;  and  both 
occupied  themselves  in  organizing  in  advance  their 
mutual  existence,  hereafter  blended  forever.  The  per- 
sonal fortune  of  M.  de  Camors,  united  to  that  of  the 
Marquise,  left  no  limits  to  the  fancies  which  their  imag- 

[326] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

ination  could  devise.  They  arranged  to  live  separately 
at  Paris,  though  the  Marquise's  salon  should  be  com- 
mon to  both ;  but  their  double  influence  would  shine  at 
the  same  time,  and  they  would  be  the  social  centre  of  a 
sovereign  influence.  The  Marquise  would  reign  by  the 
splendor  of  her  person  over  the  society  of  letters,  art, 
and  politics.  Camors  would  there  find  the  means  of 
action  which  could  not  fail  to  accomplish  the  high  des- 
tiny to  which  his  talent  and  his  ambition  called  him. 

This  was  the  life  that  had  appeared  to  them  in  the 
origin  of  their  liaison  as  a  sort  of  ideal  of  human  happi- 
ness— that  of  two  superior  beings,  who  proudly  shared, 
above  the  masses,  all  the  pleasures  of  earth,  the  intoxi- 
cation of  passion,  the  enjoyment  of  intellectual  strength, 
the  satisfaction  of  pride,  and  the  emotions  of  power. 
The  eclat  of  such  a  life  would  constitute  the  vengeance 
of  Camors,  and  force  to  repent  bitterly  those  who  had 
dared  to  misunderstand  him.  The  recent  mourning  of 
the  Marquise  commanded  them,  notwithstanding,  to 
adjourn  the  realization  of  their  dream,  if  they  did  not 
wish  to  wound  the  conscience  of  the  public.  They  felt 
it,  and  resolved  to  travel  for  a  few  months  before  settling 
in  Paris.  The  time  that  passed  in  their  preparations 
for  the  future,  and  in  arrangements  for  this  voyage,  was 
to  Madame  de  Campvallon  the  sweetest  period  of  her 
life.  She  finally  tasted  to  the  full  an  intimacy,  so  long 
troubled,  of  which  the  charm,  in  truth,  was  very  great; 
for  her  lover,  as  if  to  make  her  forget  his  momentary 
desertion,  was  prodigal  m  the  effusion  of  his  tender- 
ness. He  brought  to  private  studies,  as  well  as  to  their 
common  schemes,  an  ardor,  a  fire,  which  displayed 

[327] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

itself  in  his  face,  in  his  eyes,  and  which  seemed  yet  more 
to  heighten  his  manly  beauty.  It  often  happened,  after 
quitting  the  Marquise  in  the  evening,  that  he  worked 
very  late  at  home,  sometimes  until  morning.  One 
night,  shortly  before  the  day  fixed  for  their  departure, 
a  private  servant  of  the  Count,  who  slept  in  the  room 
above  his  master's,  heard  a  noise  which  alarmed 
him. 

He  went  down  in  great  haste,  and  found  M.  de 
Camors  stretched  apparently  lifeless  on  the  floor  at  the 
foot  of  his  desk.  The  servant,  whose  name  was  Dan- 
iel, had  all  his  master's  confidence,  and  he  loved  him 
with  that  singular  affection  which  strong  natures  often 
inspire  in  their  inferiors. 

He  sent  for  Madame  de  Campvallon,  who  soon  came. 
M.  de  Camors,  recovering  from  his  fainting-fit,  was 
very  pale,  and  was  walking  across  the  room  when  she 
entered.  He  seemed  irritated  at  seeing  her,  and  re- 
buked his  servant  sharply  for  his  ill-advised  zeal. 

He  said  he  had  only  had  a  touch  of  vertigo,  to 
which  he  was  subject.  Madame  de  Campvallon  soon 
retired,  having  first  supplicated  him  not  to  overwork 
himself  again.  When  he  came  to  her  next  day,  she 
could  not  help  being  surprised  at  the  dejection  stamped 
on  his  face,  which  she  attributed  to  the  attack  he  had 
had  the  night  before.  But  when  she  spoke  of  their  ap- 
proaching departure,  she  was  astonished,  and  even 
alarmed  by  his  reply: 

"  Let  us  defer  it  a  little,  I  beg  of  you,"  he  said.  "  I  do 
not  feel  in  a  state  fit  for  travelling." 

Days  passed;  he  made  no  further  allusion  to  the 
[328] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

voyage.  He  was  serious,  silent,  and  cold.  The  active 
ardor,  almost  feverish,  which  had  animated  until  then 
his  life,  his  speech,  his  eyes,  was  suddenly  quenched. 
One  symptom  which  disquieted  the  Marquise  above  all 
was  the  absolute  idleness  to  which  he  now  abandoned 
himself. 

He  left  her  in  the  evening  at  an  early  hour.  Daniel 
told  the  Marquise  that  the  Count  worked  no  longer; 
that  he  heard  him  pacing  up  and  down  the  greater  part 
of  the  night.  At  the  same  time  his  health  failed  visi- 
bly. The  Marquise  ventured  once  to  interrogate  him. 
As  they  were  both  walking  one  day  in  the  park,  she 
said: 

"You  are  hiding  something  from  me.  You  suffer, 
my  friend.  What  is  the  cause  ?" 

"There  is  nothing." 

"I  pray  you  tell  me!" 

"Nothing  is  the  matter  with  me,"  he  replied,  petu- 
lantly. 

"Is  it  your  son  that  you  regret?" 

"I  regret  nothing."  After  a  few  steps  taken  in 
silence — "When  I  think,"  he  said,  quickly,  "that  there 
is  one  person  in  the  world  who  considers  me  a  coward— 
for  I  hear  always  that  word  in  my  ear — and  who  treated 
me  like  a  coward,  and  who  believed  it  when  it  was  said, 
and  believes  it  still!  If  it  had  been  a  man,  it  would  be 
easy,  but  it  was  a  woman." 

After  this  sudden  explosion  he  was  silent. 

"Very  well;  what  do  you  desire?"  said  the  Mar- 
quise, with  vexation.  "  Do  you  wish  that  I  should  go 
and  tell  her  the  truth — tell  her  that  you  were  ready  to 

[329] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

defend  her  against  me — that  you  love  her,  and  hate 
me  ?  If  it  be  that  you  wish,  say  so.  I  believe  if  this  life 
continues  I  shall  be  capable  of  doing  anything!" 

"Do  not  you  also  outrage  me!  Dismiss  me,  if  that 
will  give  you  pleasure;  but  I  love  you  only.  My  pride 
bleeds,  that  is  all;  and  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor 
that  if  you  ever  affront  me  by  going  to  justify  me,  I 
shall  never  in  my  life  see  you  or  her.  Embrace  me!" 
and  he  pressed  her  to  his  heart. 

She  was  calm  for  a  few  hours. 

The  house  he  occupied  was  about  to  be  taken  again 
by  its  proprietor.  The  middle  of  September  ap- 
proached, and  it  was  the  time  when  the  Marquise 
was  in  the  habit  of  returning  to  Paris.  She  proposed 
to  M.  de  Camors  to  occupy  the  chateau  during  the 
few  days  he  purposed  passing  in  the  country.  He 
accepted;  but  whenever  she  spoke  of  returning  to 
Paris— 

"Why  so  soon?"  he  would  say;  "are  we  not  very 
well  here?" 

A  little  later  she  reminded  him  that  the  session  of 
the  Chamber  was  about  to  open.  He  made  his  health 
a  pretext  for  delay,  saying  that  he  felt  weak  and  wished 
to  send  in  his  resignation  as  deputy.  She  induced  him 
only  by  her  urgent  prayer  to  content  himself  with 
asking  leave  of  absence. 

"But  you,  my  beloved!"  he  said,  "I  am  condemning 
you  to  a  sad  existence!" 

"With  you,"  she  replied,  "I  am  happy  everywhere 
and  always!" 

It  was  not  true  that  she  was  happy,  but  it  was  true 
[330] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

that  she  loved  him  and  was  devoted  to  him.  There  was 
no  suffering  she  would  not  have  resigned  herself  to,  no 
sacrifice  she  would  not  make,  were  it  for  him. 

From  this  moment  the  prospect  of  worldly  sover- 
eignty, which  she  thought  she  had  touched  with  her 
hand,  escaped  her.  She  had  a  presentiment  of  a  mel- 
ancholy future  of  solitude,  of  renunciation,  of  secret 
tears;  but  near  him  grief  became  a  fete.  One  knows 
with  what  rapidity  life  passes  with  those  who  busy 
themselves  without  distraction  in  some  profound  grief 
—the  days  themselves  are  long,  but  the  succession  of 
them  is  rapid  and  imperceptible.  It  was  thus  that  the 
months  and  then  the  seasons  succeeded  one  another, 
for  Camors  and  the  Marquise,  with  a  monotony  that 
left  hardly  any  trace  on  their  thoughts.  Their  daily 
relations  were  marked,  on  the  part  of  the  Count  with 
an  invariably  cold  and  distant  courtesy,  and  very  often 
silence;  on  the  part  of  the  Marquise  by  an  attentive 
tenderness  and  a  constrained  grief.  Every  day  they 
rode  out  on  horseback,  both  clad  in  black,  sympathetic 
by  their  beauty  and  their  sadness,  and  surrounded  in 
the  country  by  distant  respect.  About  the  beginning 
of  the  ensuing  winter  Madame  de  Campvallon  experi- 
enced a  serious  disquietude.  Although  M.  de  Camors 
never  complained,  it  was  evident  his  health  was  grad- 
ually failing.  A  dark  and  almost  clayey  tint  covered  his 
thin  cheeks,  and  spread  nearly  to  the  whites  of  his  eyes. 
The  Marquise  showed  some  emotion  on  perceiving  it, 
and  persuaded  him  to  consult  a  physician.  The  physi- 
cian perceived  symptoms  of  chronic  debility.  He  did 
not  think  it  dangerous,  but  recommended  a  season  at 


Vichy,  a  few  hygienic  precautions,  and  absolute  repose 
of  mind  and  body. 

When  the  Marquise  proposed  to  Camors  this  visit  to 
Vichy,  he  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  without  reply. 

A  few  days  after,  Madame  de  Campvallon  on  enter- 
ing the  stable  one  morning,  saw  Medjid,  the  favorite 
mare  of  Camors,  white  with  foam,  panting  and  ex- 
hausted. The  groom  explained,  with  some  awkward- 
ness, the  condition  of  the  animal,  by  a  ride  the  Count 
had  taken  that  morning.  The  Marquise  had  recourse 
to  Daniel,  of  whom  she  made  a  confidant,  and  having 
questioned  him,  drew  out  the  acknowledgment  that  for 
some  time  his  master  had  been  in  the  habit  of  going  out 
in  the  evening  and  not  returning  until  morning.  Dan- 
iel was  in  despair  with  these  nightly  wanderings,  which 
he  said  greatly  fatigued  his  master.  He  ended  by  con- 
fessing to  Madame  de  Campvallon  the  goal  of  his  ex- 
cursions. 

The  Comtesse  de  Camors,  yielding  to  considerations 
the  details  of  which  would  not  be  interesting,  had  con- 
tinued to  live  at  Reuilly  since  her  husband  had  aban- 
doned her.  Reuilly  was  distant  twelve  leagues  from 
Campvallon,  which  could  be  made  shorter  by  a  cross- 
cut. M.  de  Camors  did  not  hesitate  to  pass  over  this 
distance  twice  in  the  same  night,  to  give  himself  the 
emotion  of  breathing  for  a  few  minutes  the  same  air 
with  his  wife  and  child. 

Daniel  had  accompanied  him  two  or  three  times, 
but  the  Count  generally  went  alone.  He  left  his  horse 
in  the  wood,  and  approached  as  near  as  he  could  with- 
out risking  discovery;  and,  hiding  himself  like  a  mal- 

[332] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

efactor  behind  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  he  watched  the 
windows,  the  lights,  the  house,  the  least  signs  of  those 
dear  beings,  from  whom  an  eternal  abyss  had  divided 
him. 

The  Marquise,  half  frightened,  half  irritated,  by  an 
oddity  which  seemed  to  border  on  madness,  pretended 
to  be  ignorant  of  it.  But  these  two  spirits  were  too 
accustomed  to  each  other,  day  by  day,  to  be  able  to 
hide  anything.  He  knew  she  .was  aware  of  his  weak- 
ness, and  seemed  no  longer  to  care  to  make  a  mystery 
of  it. 

One  evening  in  the  month  of  July,  he  left  on  horse- 
back in  the  afternoon,  and  did  not  return  for  dinner. 
He  arrived  at  the  woods  of  Reuilly  at  the  close  of  the 
day,  as  he  had  premeditated.  He  entered  the  garden 
with  his  usual  precaution,  and,  thanks  to  his  knowledge 
of  the  habits  of  the  household,  he  could  approach, 
without  being  noticed,  the  pavilion  where  the  Count- 
ess's chamber  was  situated,  and  which  was  also  that  of 
his  son.  This  chamber,  by  a  particular  arrangement  of 
the  house,  was  elevated  at  the  side  of  the  court  by  the 
height  of  an  entre-sol,  but  was  level  with  the  garden. 
One  of  the  windows  was  open,  owing  to  the  heat  of 
the  evening.  Camors  hid  himself  behind  the  shutters, 
which  were  half  closed,  and  gazed  eagerly  into  the 
chamber. 

He  had  not  seen  for  two  years  either  his  wife,  his 
child,  or  Madame  de  Tecle.  He  now  saw  all  three 
there.  Madame  de  Tecle  was  working  near  the  chim- 
ney. Her  face  was  unchanged.  She  had  the  same 
youthful  look,  but  her  hair  was  as  white  as  snow.  Ma- 

[333] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

dame  de  Camors  was  sitting  on  a  couch  nearly  in  front 
of  the  window  and  undressing  her  son,  at  the  same  time 
talking  to  and  caressing  him. 

The  child,  at  a  sign,  knelt  down  at  his  mother's  feet 
in  his  light  night-garments,  and  while  she  held  his 
joined  hands  in  her  own,  he  began  in  a  loud  voice  his 
evening  prayers.  She  whispered  him  from  time  to  time 
a  word  that  escaped  him.  This  prayer,  composed  of  a 
number  of  phrases  adapted  to  a  youthful  mind,  termi- 
nated with  these  words:  "O  God!  be  good  and  merci- 
ful to  my  mother,  my  grandmother,  to  me — and  above 
all,  O  God,  to  my  unfortunate  father."  He  pronounced 
these  words  with  childish  haste,  but  under  a  serious 
look  from  his  mother,  he  repeated  them  immediately, 
with  some  emotion,  as  a  child  who  repeats  the  inflection 
of  a  voice  which  has  been  taught  him. 

Camors  turned  suddenly  and  retired  noiselessly, 
leaving  the  garden  by  the  nearest  gate.  A  fixed  idea 
tortured  him.  He  wished  to  see  his  son — to  speak  to 
him — to  embrace  him,  and  to  press  him  to  his  heart. 
After  that,  he  cared  for  little. 

He  remembered  they  had  formerly  the  habit  of 
taking  the  child  to  the  dairy  every  morning  to  give  him 
a  cup  of  milk.  He  hoped  they  had  continued  this  cus- 
tom. Morning  arrived,  and  soon  came  the  hour  for 
which  he  waited.  He  hid  himself  in  the  walk  which  led 
to  the  farm.  He  heard  the  noise  of  feet,  of  laughter, 
and  of  joyous  cries,  and  his  son  suddenly  appeared  run- 
ning in  advance.  He  was  a  charming  little  boy  of  five 
or  six  years,  of  a  graceful  and  proud  mien.  On  per- 
ceiving M.  de  Camors  in  the  middle  of  the  walk  he 

[334] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

stopped,  he  hesitated  at  this  unknown  or  half -forgotten 
face,  but  the  tender  and  half-supplicating  smile  of 
Camors  reassured  him. 

"Monsieur!"  he  said,  doubtfully. 

Camors  opened  his  arms  and  bent  as  if  to  kneel  be- 
fore him. 

"Come  and  embrace  me,  I  beg  of  you,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

The  child  had  already  advanced  smiling,  when  the 
woman  who  was  following  him,  who  was  his  old  nurse, 
suddenly  appeared.  She  made  a  gesture  of  fright: 

"Your  father!"  she  said,  in  a  stifled  voice. 

At  these  words  the  child  uttered  a  cry  of  terror, 
rushed  back  to  the  nurse,  pressed  against  her,  and 
regarded  his  father  with  frightened  eyes. 

The  nurse  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  carried  him 
off  in  great  haste. 

M.  de  Camors  did  not  weep.  A  frightful  contraction 
distorted  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  exaggerated 
the  thinness  of  his  cheeks.  He  had  two  or  three  shud- 
derings  as  if  seized  with  sudden  fever.  He  slowly 
passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead,  sighed  profoundly, 
and  departed. 

Madame  de  Campvallon  knew  nothing  of  this  sad 
scene,  but  she  saw  its  consequences;  and  she  herself 
felt  them  bitterly.  The  character  of  M.  de  Camors, 
already  so  changed,  became  after  this  unrecognizable. 
He  showed  her  no  longer  even  the  cold  politeness  he 
had  manifested  for  her  up  to  that  period.  He  exhibited 
a  strange  antipathy  toward  her.  He  fled  from  her. 
She  perceived  he  avoided  even  touching  her  hand. 

[335] 


OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

They  saw  each  other  rarely  now.  The  health  of  Ca- 
mors  did  not  admit  of  his  taking  regular  meals.  These 
two  desolate  existences  offered  then,  in  the  midst  of 
the  almost  royal  state  which  surrounded  them,  a  spec- 
tacle of  pity. 

In  this  magnificent  park — across  these  beautiful 
gardens,  with  great  vases  of  marble — under  long  ar- 
cades of  verdure  peopled  with  more  statues — both 
wandered  separately,  like  two  sad  shadows,  meeting 
sometimes  but  never  speaking. 

One  day,  near  the  end  of  September,  Camors  did 
not  descend  from  his  apartment.  Daniel  told  the 
Marquise  he  had  given  orders  to  let  no  one  enter. 

"Not  even  me?"  she  said.  He  bent  his  head  mourn- 
fully. She  insisted. 

"Madame,  I  should  lose  my  place!" 

The  Count  persisted  in  this  mania  of  absolute  se- 
clusion. She  was  compelled  from  this  moment  to 
content  herself  with  the  news  she  obtained  from  his 
servant.  M.  de  Camors  was  not  bedridden.  He 
passed  his  time  in  a  sad  reverie,  lying  on  his  divan. 
He  got  up  at  intervals,  wrote  a  few  lines,  then  lay 
down  again.  His  weakness  appeared  great,  though 
he  did  not  complain  of  any  suffering. 

After  two  or  three  weeks,  the  Marquise  read  in  the 
features  of  Daniel  a  more  marked  disquietude  than 
usual.  He  supplicated  her  to  call  in  the  country 
physician  who  had  once  before  seen  him.  It  was  so  de- 
cided. The  unfortunate  woman,  when  the  physician 
was  shown  into  the  Count's  apartment,  leaned  against 
the  door  listening  in  agony.  She  thought  she  heard 

[336] 


MONSIEUR  DE  CAMORS 

the  voice  of  Camors  loudly  raised,   then   the  noise 
ceased. 

The  doctor,  when  departing,  simply  said  to  her: 
"Madame,  his  sad  case  appears  to  me  serious — but 
not  hopeless.  I  did  not  wish  to  press  him  to-day,  but 
he  allows  me  to  return  to-morrow." 

In  the  night  which  followed,  at  two  o'clock,  Madame 
de  Campvallon  heard  some  one  calling  her,  and  recog- 
nized the  voice  of  Daniel.  She  rose  immediately,  threw 
a  mantle  around  her,  and  admitted  him. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  "Monsieur  le  Comte  asks  for 
you,"  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Mon  Dieu!  what  is  the  matter?" 

"Come,  Madame — you  must  hasten!" 

She  accompanied  him  immediately.  From  the 
moment  she  put  her  foot  in  the  chamber,  she  could 
not  deceive  herself — Death  was  there.  Crushed  by 
sorrow,  this  existence,  so  full,  so  proud,  so  powerful, 
was  about  to  terminate.  The  head  of  Camors,  turned 
on  the  pillow,  seemed  already  to  have  assumed  a 
death-like  immobility.  His  beautiful  features,  sharp- 
ened by  suffering,  took  the  rigid  outline  of  sculpture; 
his  eye  alone  yet  lived  and  looked  at  her. 

She  approached  him  hastily  and  wished  to  seize  the 
hand  resting  on  the  sheet. 

He  withdrew  it.  She  gave  a  despairing  groan. 
He  continued  to  look  fixedly  at  her.  She  thought 
he  was  trying  to  speak,  but  could  not;  but  his  eyes 
spoke.  They  addressed  to  her  some  request,  at  the 
same  time  with  an  imperious  though  supplicating 
expression,  which  she  doubtless  understood;  for  she 
22  1 337  1 


OCTAVE  FUEILLET 

said  aloud,  with  an  accent  full  of  sadness  and  tender- 
ness: 

"I  promise  it  to  you." 

He  appeared  to  make  a  painful  effort,  and  his  look 
indicated  a  large  sealed  letter  lying  on  the  bed.  She 
took  it,  and  read  on  the  envelope — "To  my  son." 

"I  promise  you,"  she  said,  again,  falling  on  her 
knees,  and  moistening  the  sheet  with  her  tears. 

He  extended  his  hand  toward  her.  "Thanks!" 
was  all  he  said.  Her  tears  flowed  faster.  She  set  her 
lips  on  this  hand  already  cold.  When  she  raised  her 
head,  she  saw  at  the  same  instant  the  eyes  of  Camors 
slightly  moist,  rolling  wildly — then  extinguished!  She 
uttered  a  cry,  threw  herself  on  the  bed,  and  kissed 
madly  those  eyes  still  open — yet  void  of  light  forever ! 

Thus  ended  Camors,  who  was  a  great  sinner,  but 
nevertheless  a  MAN! 


UNIVERSITY  OF  r/"  '-^ELES 


UNIVERSi  UJFORN1A 

LOS  ANGELES 


000  9875™™ 


PQ 
2242 

M75E5 


